


This is the Start of How it All Ends

by NyxEtoile



Series: They Used to Shout My Name, Now They Whisper It [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ant-Man (2015) Post-Credits Scene, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Revenge, Road Trips, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He didn’t know what he wanted. He wasn’t allowed to want things. He had missions. He could make decisions there, sometimes. Change target, select priorities. All within an established set of parameters. It wasn’t about want, it was about logistics, necessity.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Maybe he did want to stay. At least here he knew what to do. There was pain and the wipes were bad. But he knew how to do it. There was a saying that described this logic, something about devils you knew. . . But it was as muddled as everything else.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He had no idea how to express all of that to her, to explain how impossible “want” was for him. What came out of his mouth was, “I need a mission.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She studied him a moment, then turned away, tipping her head back. She muttered, “Fuck,” under her breath, then turned back to him. “You want to come with me?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He nodded, with more enthusiasm than he’d felt for anything but killing in a very long time. She sighed. “All right. Come on, let’s get some supplies.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What do I call you?” he asked as she paused at the doorway and peered out.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She glanced back. “My name is Amanda Newbury. You can call me Doc, I suppose.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
> So I started this ages ago (when the Ant-Man post credits scene leaked on Tumblr). I had long been wanting to do a Bucky/Amanda AU, essentially, that delved more into his recovery from being the Soldier. So, I gave them a gritty reboot. This was one of those stories that absolutely did not go where I thought it was going to, but it all seemed to work out in the end. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Please note the awesome banner by Olives.
> 
> Title is from the song Yellow Flicker Beat by Lorde.
> 
> There will be a sequel/companion piece starring Steve coming when this one is done, or nearly so.

When the mission was over you went back to the safe house. 

It was a rule beaten and burned into him. He didn’t know the source, didn’t recall who had first told it to him or what the penalty was for not obeying (though he could probably guess, as the penalty for disobeying any order was the same). He didn’t know if there would be anyone at the safe house. He didn’t know if there was anyone left of his handlers. If there would be anyone to give him a new mission or punish him for not completing this one. But he didn’t know what else to do, so he went back to the safe house.

There was no extraction team, no van to rendezvous with. Just a long, wet, painful walk, trying to keep away from crowds and avoid being seen. There was no one manning the front gate when he got there, but he knew how to open them. He found his way through the mostly abandoned hallways. The few agents he did pass gave him a wide berth.

Instinct brought him to the lab. He didn’t want to go to the lab, with the chair and the needles and pain. But it was where he was supposed to go and so that was where his feet took him.

There were five men and a woman in the lab. The woman and three of the men had white coats. The other two men had black uniforms and guns. They all turned when he entered. The men’s reactions ranged from panic and fear to anger. The woman looked. . . sad.

A gun was lifted towards him and he reacted. His right arm hurt and wouldn’t react. But he could disarm a man with his left, especially if he broke the other’s wrist in the process. You shouldn’t point a gun when you’re in melee range. Someone should have told him that.

He broke the guard’s wrist, took his gun and shot him in the head. Then he shot the other guard before he could react. One of the white coats started running for the wall that held the electric prods. The woman tripped him, deliberately, before he made it two steps.

That was odd. He shot the man on the floor, then the second white coat. He had to turn back to the door to take down the last one. When he turned back to the woman she had moved. Now she was standing next to the second guard and was pointing his handgun at him.

“Don’t,” she said, voice clear and calm.

He kept his gun pointed at her, but didn’t squeeze the trigger. “You tripped him.”

“I did.”

He wasn’t supposed to ask questions. Questions got him wiped. Questions meant pain. But there was no one here to wipe him. No one to give the order. Just her. And she hadn’t shot him. “Why?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m not Hydra. I’m a prisoner, like you. This seems like as good an opportunity as any to get out of here.” She glanced briefly at the body on the floor. “Plus he was kind of an asshole.”

That last part stirred something deep in the depths of his mind, the same place that had recognized the man on the bridge, that had known the words he’d said on the carrier. The part that had stopped him from killing him. He thought it might have been something like amusement.

“I failed my mission,” he said, lowering his gun slightly.

She responded in kind, aiming at a spot on the floor near his feet. “I heard. Pierce is dead.”

The confirmation of what he’d expected sent twin emotions through him: relief and fear. He hadn’t known he could feel anything that strongly anymore, let alone two emotions that should cancel each other out. He let his gun sag entirely, pointing uselessly at the floor. “I knew him.”

One of her brows went up. “Pierce?”

He shook his head in frustration. Pierce was dead, he didn’t matter anymore. “My mission. The man on the bridge.”

“Steve Rogers,” she supplied.

He wished that name solved everything. Made his history snap into place like a scope finally zeroed on its target. “Who am I?”

She hesitated a fraction of a moment, then said, “Sergeant Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes. Your friends called you Bucky.”

That’s what the man on the bridge had said. That name stirred things in that same deep part of his mind. James Barnes. That was his name. Not Asset, not Soldier. James. James Barnes.

The woman was crouching and rummaging through the pockets of the downed scientists. It should probably worry him that he’d only just noticed that.

He twitched his gun and she looked up at him. “Look, if you’re not going to kill me then I’m getting on with my whole escaping plan. I strongly suggest you do the same.”

Escaping. He could just leave. No one here had the skills to stop him. But then, once he was gone, what would he do? He didn’t remember his own name, much less how to be a person, out among people. He knew how to plan, to kill. To break into buildings or hot wire cars. To disassemble and reassemble more guns than he could count. How to slow his breathing to take an impossible shot and how to run a mile full out and still fight at the end of it.

Escaping was more terrifying than staying. 

She had found another gun, which had been clipped to the waistband of her black uniform pants. A hunting knife, which had gone in her boot. And two sets of keys and a couple of badges. She stood and shrugged out of her white coat, leaving her in a black tank top. She draped the coat over one of the scientists then took a moment to shift around so her new weapons settled.

When she was done she looked at him and gave him an assessing once over. “Your arm is dislocated. Do you want me to reset it?” He gave a short nod and she crossed the room to him, moving slowly and smoothly so he saw her coming the entire time.

Her fingers were soft and cool where they touched him. She shifted his arm a little, poked at the shoulder front and back, then set her mouth in a grim line. She laid her forearm on the inside of his elbow, bent his arm over hers and yanked sharply. He let out a grunt at the flare of pain it caused and had to focus not to fight her. 

She released him and stepped away in two swift steps. He rolled the arm and flexed his fingers and gave her another nod. That caused her to smile a little for some reason, and she bent to gather up the keys and badges she’d collected. Watching her, he felt the first flickers of uncertainty, followed by panic. If she left - escaped - he would be alone. He hadn’t ever been alone.

“I don’t have a mission,” he said, hoping she’d understand.

Pausing on her way to the door, she turned back to look at him. “There is no one to give you missions,” she said, almost cautiously. “Pierce is dead, Hydra and SHIELD are both scrambling for footing. I’m sure someone will take the reins soon. Pierce couldn’t possibly have been the only head. If I were you, I would be somewhere far away when that happens.” She tilted her head. “Unless you want to stay and continue being a weapon?”

He didn’t know what he wanted. He wasn’t allowed to _want_ things. He had missions. He could make decisions there, sometimes. Change target, select priorities. All within an established set of parameters. It wasn’t about want, it was about logistics, necessity.

Maybe he did want to stay. At least here he knew what to do. There was pain and the wipes were bad. But he knew how to do it. There was a saying that described this logic, something about devils you knew. . . But it was as muddled as everything else.

He had no idea how to express all of that to her, to explain how impossible “want” was for him. What came out of his mouth was, “I need a mission.”

Maybe she heard it all without him saying it. She’d said she was a prisoner, too. Maybe she knew a fraction of the fear he felt and was ignoring it. Or maybe something out there was better than the familiarity here. Whatever it was, she studied him a moment, then turned away, tipping her head back. She muttered, “Fuck,” under her breath, then turned back to him. “You want to come with me?”

He nodded, with more enthusiasm than he’d felt for anything but killing in a very long time. She sighed and nodded. “All right. Come on, let’s get some supplies.” She tugged her gun out of its holster and started for the door. He followed at her six, assault rifle cradled in two arms now.

“What do I call you?” he asked as she paused at the doorway and peered out.

She glanced back. “My name is Amanda Newbury. You can call me Doc, I suppose.”

*

As they made their way thought the corridors Amanda reminded herself that having a well-trained, amnesiac, brain-washed assassin on your team had its upsides. For example, while she was more proficient in weapons than your average girl on the street, she could not, in fact, disarm and kill five men in fifteen seconds with the use of only one arm. When escaping the base of a shadowy anarchist terrorist organization that had to be a plus. Right?

She glanced back at him as they reached the supply room. He moved silently, not even seeming to breathe. His official name was The Asset, but she’d heard him referred to as The Ghost and the Winter Soldier. Whatever he was, he was equal parts scary and pathetic and she still wasn’t entirely sure why she’d decided to let him tag along. Surely the two of them would be more conspicuous that just her. Plus, while it was possible whoever took over Hydra would value her work enough to track her down, she was a far less important target than he was going to be. She imagined they’d be moving heaven and hell to get him back into the fold. Did she really want to be the cannon fodder standing in the middle?

_I need a mission._

_Fuck_ she was going soft in her old age.

There were voices coming from the supply room and she stopped, back pressed to the wall. Three she recognized, minimum. The room was decent sized, though smaller than the lab he’d found her in. No way to tell how far spread out they were.

Her hands fidgeted on her gun as she tried to formulate a plan. Then she remembered her pet ghost and looked over at him, brows questioning.

He looked at her quizzically a moment, then his face seemed to brighten. Relatively speaking, of course. But charcoal grey to steel grey was still brightening. He stepped closer, into her personal space and said, “Low and left.”

It took her a minute to parse the words, then another to interpret what he meant. Then she met his eyes, nodded and together they turned into the doorway. She crouched in the same motion and aimed left, taking out two men with three shots. His assault rifle rattled over her head, taking out the rest of the room.

There was a moment of silence while her ears rang and they both breathed in unison. Then she slowly stood and holstered her gun, stepping into the room. “For future reference, left is my bad eye. I’d do better on the right.”

“Noted,” he said, with little to no inflection. She glanced back to find he’d taken up a guard’s position by the door. 

Right, see, totally positives to this situation. Stepping over the bodies, she went to the long row of lockers and started unloading the go bags stored there. About half of them were gone, but with Barnes at the door she figured she had time to consolidate to get the most out of what was left.

Each bag held blank IDs, a unisex toiletry kit including shaving and hair cutting supplies, a roll of cash, an ATM card with pin, and two preloaded credit cards, with room to spare for a couple of changes of clothes. After pulling out the dozen or so bags left, she pulled out all the cash and cards and consolidated it into one bag. She paused to flip through one of the cash stacks and found it held $2500. Times twelve bags. . . yeah, thirty grand would get them pretty far. Especially with the cards for big purchases. She should use the ATMs soon, though. Those accounts would be closed soon, if they weren’t already.

“Credit cards are traceable.”

She glanced over at Barnes, still at his place by the door. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but was obviously aware of what she was doing. “They are, though I doubt anyone’s going to be checking anytime soon. We use them once, at large malls or shopping districts, preferably on our way out of town. No hotels or transportation.”

Now he did look over at her. “You’re not an agent.”

“No,” she said, though it hadn’t been a question. “I’m a doctor.”

“You know a lot about running.”

She dropped the last of the cards into her bag, peeled out a few hundred dollars worth of bills and shoved them in her pocket before stowing the rest, then went over to the rack of civilian clothes along the opposite wall. “I’ve been a prisoner of Hydra for over three years. You don’t think I’ve thought about this every night before falling asleep?”

He was watching her more than the door now. “Why were you taken?”

“Nope. You need to be at least a level two acquaintance before getting my tragic backstory.” She found a shirt, hoodie and jacket that looked like they’d fit him and tossed them at him. His tac pants were filthy and stiff as if they’d gotten wet and dried on him, but they’d do for now. She grabbed a couple of sizes for him to try later, and a spare set of clothes for herself and tossed them all in the bag, then went back to find herself a jacket.

He had put the gun down cautiously and started peeling off his armor. Amanda focused completely and solely on the clothes in front of her. Last thing he needed was an audience for this. Man hadn’t had a moment of privacy or autonomy in over seventy years. She was going to let him change in peace.

There was a soft click when he picked the gun back up and she felt it was safe to turn back around. Seeing him in normal clothes was kind of a shock. The long sleeves of the hoodie covered the arm and the rest of it fit him well enough. He looked like a guy. A strung out, exhausted guy. But still, just a guy. Not a killer. Not a weapon.

She shrugged into her new leather jacket and plucked a ball cap from the rack behind her. He stayed very as she approached him and somehow got even stiller as she reached up and gathered his hair into a little half assed bun, which she then covered with the hat. When she stepped away he started breathing again.

He still looked like hell, but not in a “call the cops” kind of way. “We need to get you a smaller gun, and I want some stuff from the lab. Then we’re out of here.”

To her surprise, he frowned and cradled the gun a little closer. “I like this one.”

Feeling a little like a parent refusing to buy their toddler a stuffed animal, she said, “You need a gun you can hide. As far as the country is concerned, there was just a terrorist attack. Someone sees a guy carrying an assault rifle around and we have every cop in the district on us. Minimum.” He was still frowning. “I’ll show you where the armory is. You can pick whatever you like as long as you can hide it inconspicuously. Okay?” After a hesitation, he nodded.

Amanda let out a breath and grabbed the bag, slinging it over her shoulder. He kept the rifle as they made their way through the halls again. At a T junction, she stopped and pointed to the right. “The armory is that way. Four doors down, with a key pad on it.” She handed him the badge she’d pulled off her guard. “This will get you in. Get yourself something you can conceal, ammo for it and ammo for mine.” She gestured at the one on her hip.

“Just one?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

Oh, sure, _this_ he had opinions about. “Fine. Two. But it needs to be street legal and you keep it in the bag when we’re street side.” She hefted said bag from her shoulder to his. “I’m going the other way, to the lab. We’ll meet back here in five minutes and de-ass this place.”

At the mention of her splitting off he fidgeted. “Three minutes.”

Deciding stressing him out did neither of them any good, she agreed. “Three minutes. Right here.” He nodded and she waited for him to turn and head down the hall before doing the same.

The lab she wanted was at the far end of the hall and was deserted. Three minutes, she had three minutes. She found the cabinet she wanted and pulled out two racks of pre loaded syringes, each filled with 25ccs of the super soldier serum she’d been working on under duress for three years. No way in hell she was leaving them here for the next round of megalomaniacs to play with.

She left the racks on the center table and hunted around for something heavy. There was a fire extinguisher on the wall, which she yanked off. Then she used it to smash the equipment and cabinets, destroying everything in the lab that wasn’t the syringes.

“What the hell?”

That wasn’t Barnes’ voice. Too clear, too tenor, and too emotional. She looked over to see one of the scientists who had worked in the lab standing in the doorway, mouth open in shock, staring at her. It seemed to take him a moment to place her, then his face darkened and he lurched forward.

She threw the fire extinguisher at him, trying to buy herself time to pull her gun. Unfortunately, he dodged it and reached her, wrapping one hand around her wrist to keep her from drawing and jamming his other arm across her throat, slamming her into the broken cabinets behind her. Broken glass dug into her, tearing up her jacket. Spots danced in her vision and she lifted her free hand to dig her nails into the arm.

There was an odd popping noise and the scientist’s head snapped forward and he dropped. Amanda gasped, gagging, hunching forward to try and catch her breath. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision to find Barnes standing in the doorway, a small pistol in his hand. “You were late,” he said simply and she found herself laughing, even through her sore throat.

His gaze swept the room and zeroed in on the syringes. The play of reaction and emotion on his face was as heartbreaking as it was terrifying. Then the pistol came back up, aimed directly at her. “You gave me injections. I remember. What were you doing here?”

She raised her hands, hoping to look harmless. “I was cleaning house. Destroying this so others couldn’t use it.”

He came forward slowly, aim not wavering, until the muzzle rested against her forehead. “Not the ones on the table. What were they for?” His jaw twitched, clenching. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t,” she said softly, urgently. “I was a researcher, with SHIELD. I was trying to develop the super soldier serum that made Captain Rogers what he was.”

“To make more soldiers. To make weapons like me.”

Well, apparently, he was more than capable of feeling anger. “I wanted to help people. Paralyzed people. People with motor neuron diseases. I didn’t want to make soldiers, just give sick people normal lives. Then Hydra noticed me and forced me to work for them. So, yes, I gave you shots. Because I was the only one who understood how it works. And yes, I pulled those out to bring with us because you haven’t been out of cryo for longer than a week in almost forty years. I have no idea how you’ll react. I wanted to have it in case you needed a booster.” She blew out a breath. “If you don’t want to take them, if you want to risk it, that’s fine. Smash them. Just don’t leave them here for these psychos to replicate.”

He stared her down, eyes flicking back and forth, as if he could read all her secrets in her face. Very, very slowly he lowered the gun away from her head and she started breathing again. He dropped the duffle bag at her feet. “One rack. Destroy the other.”

She nodded and slipped carefully past him. One rack went into the bag, padded by clothes and rolls of cash. The other went to the floor and she crushed the surviving syringes under the heel of her boot. When they were little more than sand she looked back to him and he nodded, apparently satisfied. He holstered his pistol, picked up the duffle bag and stepped back so she could proceed him out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

It was strange to be out in the world without armor and weapons. Well, he had the gun, holstered at the base of his spine, but he wasn’t supposed to bring that out, not if he didn’t need it. He might as well have been naked. Newbury was handling it better, or so he thought at first. Then he noticed the way she clenched her fists a little too hard and turned her head a little too swiftly at a sound and he knew freedom wasn’t treating her any better than him.

She, at least, seemed to have some sort of plan. She led him down the street, hands in her pockets, pretending to window shop when they passed large groups or men in uniform. And there was a lot of men in uniform on the street, some rushing up and down the streets, other just loitering. As if their presence would promote peace and order. Maybe for the other people it did, but it just set him further on edge.

Newbury lead him down into a Metro stop and used a credit card to buy two metro cards. She handed him one so he could get through the turnstile, then discreetly tossed the credit card into the trash. “I just wanted to see if it worked,” she muttered, stopping briefly at the route map before they headed down to the platforms.

“Where are we going?”

“Crystal City stop. In Arlington.” They found a pillar they could put their backs to and watched the crowd. “Long string of hotels there, near a commercial industrial area. I stayed there once while interviewing for internships. We’ll find somewhere we can hunker down for a couple days and figure out next moves.” She paused as a cop strolled past them. “Wait for some of this to die down.”

Sitting and hiding rankled him a little, but he knew it was probably the best move right now. Adrenaline had worn off and he was starting to feel the aches and pains of his fight on the carrier. Rest would be good. Rest. In a bed. No wipes, no men in white coats tinkering with his arm and hooking him up to various machines. The concept was so foreign he didn’t even know how to feel about it. He should be excited, eager. But it would be like becoming excited about meeting a unicorn or flying to Mars. It was so outside the realm of possibility his mind couldn’t wrap around it.

The train rumbled into the station and they joined the sparse crowd on board. He set their duffle bag onto a seat and Newbury sat next to it while he loomed above. They didn’t speak, pretending to people watch and read the signs hung on the walls.

It was a long trip, almost half an hour. He watched the crowd ebb and flow around him. Newbury tipped her head back and closed her eyes, though he didn’t think she was actually dozing. She stood when their stop was approaching and they headed out into the late afternoon sun.

She took a moment to peer around, apparently getting her bearings, then chose a direction and started walking. He trudged along behind her. They passed a couple of large chain hotels with pools and free wi-fi. Just looking at the huge, rectangular buildings without enough exit routes made him twitch. 

Newbury stopped at a small, three story motel perched on top of an underground parking garage. It was a single string of rooms, doors lined up along an exterior walkway and balconies looking out on the heavily trafficked four lane road. It was absolutely perfect and he was kind of impressed she’d picked it out.

It did proclaim itself the Americana Hotel in big red, white, and blue letters on top of it. That caused that spot in the back of his mind to twang with something like irritated amusement. Newbury smirked a little when she noticed it, so he wasn’t alone.

She did the talking at the front desk, asking for a room on the lowest level, away from the stairs. With two beds. The girl behind the counter glanced at them in confusion, but covered it quickly and handed over the keys.

The room was painted an eye searing red-orange, broken up only by the grey and black patterned bed spreads and the cheaply framed landscape photos dotted around the walls.

He dumped the duffle bag between the beds and sank slowly onto the one nearest the door. Newbury paced over to the windows and glanced out, before tugging the sheer curtains closed and slowly peeling out of her jacket.

There was blood on her back, making her tank top stick to her skin. She held the jacket in front of her, frowning at the holes and gouges. He remembered the broken cabinet behind her in the lab. Her attacker had shoved her into it. He’d probably caused her to push back into it as well, when he’d held the gun to her.

He was still examining the odd little twinge that thought caused when she dropped the jacket and went to the duffle bag, digging in it for the first aid kit before disappearing in the bathroom.

There was no reason to feel he should go help her. She was a doctor, she could handle some scratches. They were on her back, though. And if there was glass in them, she could get an infection if they weren’t removed. That would slow them down. None of the cuts looked deep enough for stitches. He could easily handle cleaning and bandaging them for her.

He stood and went to the doorway of the bathroom. She was in front of the vanity, shirt off, bra strap down her arm. She was twisted in an attempt to see her back in the mirror, a pair of tweezers in her hand. When she saw him in the doorway she looked vaguely embarrassed.

Stepping forward, he plucked the tweezers from her hand and turned her so he had the best light. Then he methodically began pulling the shards of glass that had embedded in her skin. She stayed very still as he did it, slight changes in her breathing the only indication it caused her pain.

He shouldn’t trust her. For a few minutes in that lab he hadn’t. He’d been sure she was just like the rest of them, just lying to him in an effort to get close and keep controlling him. Maybe she was. Who was he to judge someone’s character? Let alone a woman and a non combatant. But his gut told him she wasn’t playing him. That she really had been a prisoner and now on the run with him. There were too many little subtle things for her to be faking it.

And in the end, what did it matter? He needed to trust someone. He wouldn’t have gotten this far without her. Not known about the hotel or how to negotiate the Metro. He wouldn’t have been able to talk to the front desk without raising suspicions. Until he had a better grasp of who he was and what he was going to do, he needed someone to help him. She was the only one he had. Going after the man on the bridge was a rabbit hole he wasn’t ready to go down.

The last of the glass went in the toilet and he rummaged through the first aid kit for antiseptic cream. He used gauze to spread it over her wounds, then taped more on to bandage them. After a quick once over to make sure he’d gotten everything, he stepped back. “Done.”

She glanced back at it, then shifted her bra strap back up. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

He nodded, once, then stepped out of the little room. She took a moment to clean up, then came out into the room, returning to the duffle bag and pulling out a large t-shirt and tugging it on over the blood stained bra.

“There was a shopping center a couple blocks from the metro station,” she said, adding a flannel shirt over the tee. “It had a Target and some to-go restaurants. I’m going to go down and get us some supplies and dinner.”

He tried to ignore the utterly irrational desire to go with her and not be left behind. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to come back. It seemed to be that he didn’t want to be left behind.

She seemed to notice some sort of reaction because she paused and studied him a moment. “You could shower,” she offered. “There’s clothes in here for you. And I could bring you more.” Frowning, she muttered something about sizes and bent again, digging around in the duffle until she found a couple of pairs of pants. Stepping close, she held them up against his waist, then tossed one onto the bed. “They’ll fit you. The ones you’re in have seen better days.”

“I went in the Potomac,” he said, not entirely sure why he was explaining himself. Maybe because she hadn’t asked.

Her nose wrinkled and she glanced up at him. “Well, that explains the smell.”

And that was it. No interrogation about _why_ he had gone in. What had gone so wrong in the mission that he’d ended up in the water. No demands to report, soldier. He’d gone in the water, that was why his clothes were trashed. That was, apparently, all she needed to know.

She filled her pockets with more cash and one of the motel keys and headed for the door.  
 “Wait.” She stopped and glanced back at him. “When you come back, knock.” He reached over and rapped a pattern on the night stand. _Bum-bah-bum-bum_. “So I know it’s you.”

Smiling a little, she nodded. “I’ll remember.” She paused a moment, as if to make sure there wasn’t more, then let herself out of the room.

*

In different circumstances, it might have been fun. Amanda had over two grand in her pocket and an entire Target to have a shopping spree in. And, when she stopped thinking about the pain in her back and shoulder and the scary amnesiac waiting for her down the road, she did have some fun. It wasn’t every day she got to buy his and hers wardrobes. She focused on the basics, in neutral colors. The men’s sweats and sleep wear had a large collection of Avengers logos, including some of Steve Rogers shield. She avoided those like the plague, concerned she’d cause some sort of psychotic break or something.

She got herself a pair of tennis shoes to replace the regulation uniform boots she was wearing. Guessing at Barnes’s shoe size seemed futile, and she honestly couldn’t picture him in anything but the boots, so she skipped it. She did get him a couple dozen pairs of socks and a pair of slippers. He probably didn’t remember having anything soft on his feet and her last long term boyfriend had loved a good pair of slippers.

Equating him with a boyfriend was wrong on so many levels. One minute she was worried about mental breakdowns the next she was feeling sorry for him and wanting to buy him comfy socks. For all she knew, he was going to shoot her in her sleep in the night.

 No, he probably wouldn’t. He’d had plenty of opportunities to kill her or leave her and hadn’t done so. Hell, he’d even managed to be gentle when bandaging her back. And when she’d told him she was going to go out shopping he almost looked like he didn’t want her to go.

Maybe she was taking a risk, running with him. Maybe he was taking a risk, dragging around a doctor with no combat experience who was rapidly coming to the end of her prison break plans. Maybe they’d keep each other safe or be each other’s downfall. She honestly didn’t have it in her to worry about that right now. She was tired, in pain, and still not entirely sure any of what had happened in the last few hours was real. So she would focus, get them their supplies and food, then go back to the motel to eat said food and get some well earned sleep. Anything after those immediate plans could wait.

The total at the check out line would have been heart attack inducing had she not known there was plenty more cash back at the motel. The checkout guy didn’t comment, bless him, and she trudged out of the store laden down with two bags dangling from each hand.

The center had a handful of tiny to-go restaurants. Amanda didn’t trust any kind of Asian food prepared in Virginia, so those options were right out. There was a pizza parlor, but she sort of felt a Brooklyn boy like Barnes should have his first pizza in seventy years from New York. That left a sketchy looking Mexican place and a soul food restaurant. Soul food meant hearty and comforting and possibly smothered in gravy, so in she went.

It was like she didn’t realize exactly how hungry she was until she smelled the kitchen and saw the menu. Taking comfort in the fact Barnes would probably eat most of it, she ordered chicken and waffles, brisket, fried catfish, ribs, several orders of cornbread and hushpuppies, and a serving of every dessert they had.

“Lord, honey, are you feeding an army?” the maternal woman taking her order asked.

Amanda had to laugh a little. “No. My, uh, brothers are in town. They eat like they’re still eighteen.”

The woman laughed, shaking her head. “I’ve got two boys of my own. I know exactly what you mean.” She was still chuckling as she walked away to put the order in and Amanda felt something unclench in her chest. Normal human interaction. What a novelty.

The walk back to the motel seemed longer than the one out, laden down as she was. It was fully dark now and exhaustion was starting to sink its claws into her. Stress, fear, pain, and far more physical activity than she was used to all added up. By the time she climbed the flight of stairs to their room her feet were literally dragging. She did remember to tap out the little code he’d asked her to use when she reached their door. She waited a moment, but there was no response, so she used her key to open the door and dragged the bags in.

Barnes was sitting on the bed closest to the door, which he had apparently claimed. His hair was damp and he was in the pair of jeans she’d laid out for him, so she assumed he’d showered. He was wearing _only_ those jeans and doing that thousand yard stare thing he did. 

For a moment, she was distracted by the scar tissue lining the transition of the metal arm. It was ugly, red and uneven, evidence of multiple surgeries, some done by unconfident or inexperienced surgeons. It had to be stiff and painful, especially after a fight. Between that and the right one being dislocated she was amazed he could move either arm.

She cleared her throat, walking slowly into the room until he looked at her and focused. When she was sure she wasn’t going to get tossed into a wall, she set the bags down. The stuff from Target could wait, dinner was rapidly becoming a priority. 

The room was a little claustrophobic. Long and narrow, there was only a couple feet of walkway between the ends of the beds and the low dresser on which the TV sat. There was no space for a table or chairs, nowhere obvious to sit and eat. Some of the food she’d gotten was finger food, but some would require utensils. After scanning the room a moment - with Barnes looking at her in mild confusion - she decided the floor between the beds was the most space. So she grabbed the food bags and the bottled drinks she’d picked up at 7-11 and sank down onto the floor, back against her bed.

Barnes watched her, confusion now well past mild. When she had all the boxes open and spread out, she looked up at him and patted the floor in invitation. He slid slowly off the bed, studying the buffet in front of him. With a pang, she wondered when the last time he’d had actual food. Certainly not in his memory. She couldn’t tell if he simply couldn’t decide which to eat or if he was afraid to want one.

Reaching over, she picked up a box and handed it to him. “You look like a ribs man.” He took the box from her and she picked up the chicken and waffles and dug in, trying not to watch him.

She knew the exact moment he took a bite because he made a noise that might have been a sex act all on its own. She looked up to find him staring at the rib he was holding like it was the grail. The look on his face was so surprised and awed it startled a little laugh out of her. He looked at her and his mouth twitched into something that might have been related to a smile. And then he started to eat.

He devoured the ribs in a few bites each, cleaning the bone fairly efficiently. Then he moved on to the brisket. Amanda sat back with her chicken and waffles and watched him, periodically handing him bottled water so he wouldn’t choke. Other than her meal, a few bites of the catfish she managed to steal, a hunk of cornbread, and a slice of pecan pie, he ate everything she had ordered, washing it all down with two bottle of water and a bottle of iced tea. As a doctor, she knew she probably should have made him slow down. But he was obviously starving and enjoying every bite of it. Hopefully the serum would protect him from a stomach ache.

When he had scraped up the last bite of peach cobbler he leaned back against the bed, breathing hard like he’d run a marathon. She handed him a wad of wet naps and paper towels and he obediently wiped his hands and face as she finished her pie.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.” She put her pie down and stood to dig around the Target bags for the over the counter medications she’d grabbed. “Did you have a favorite?”

He surveyed the empty boxes a moment. “The cornbread. And the catfish. And the chocolate pie.”

She hid a smile in her rummaging. He had a sweet tooth, apparently. And he’d been able to identify a preference. Teaching the Winter Soldier to be a person again, one meal at a time. “Are you sore?” she asked, heading back to her spot on the floor with her collection of pill bottles.

His face closed off immediately, and he eyed her with something akin to suspicion. She assumed that was because he wasn’t supposed to admit weakness or pain. Careful not to react, she shook out a selection of pills and took them herself with a swig of iced tea to chase them down. After watching her take them, he held his hand out. She did some quick math and shook what she hoped was enough to effect him into his waiting palm. He downed them, then drained another half a bottle of water.

After cleaning up the trash from their meal and leaving it bagged up outside the door, Amanda went back to her bags and sorted her clothes from his and lined up the non perishable snacks she’d grabbed along the top of the dresser. She didn’t think either of them would need more food tonight, but given Barnes’s metabolism, and newly discovered love of food, she was glad to have some back up.

The heavy meal had reawakened her exhaustion. It was currently warring with her desire for a hot shower. Shower won, but just barely, and she gathered up a change of clothes and toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom. 

The water stung her wounds, even through the gauze, but felt amazing on her aching muscles. She’d had access to showers while with Hydra - bad hygiene in your prisoners was bad for everyone - but they’d been timed and often monitored. Plus the water pressure and water heaters in secret bases often left something to be desired. This was possibly the best shower she’d had, second only to the first one after returning to the States after being overseas with Doctors Without Borders. There was something about hot water and an overabundance of soap and shampoo suds that was simply life changing.

She had to take the soggy gauze bandage off when she got out, but was happy to see none of the gouges had reopened. Maybe he’d be willing to re-bandage it when she got out. Drying her hair with the dryer would take too long, she’d deal with it in the morning. So she tugged on the tank top and loose grey pants she’d brought in, and gathered up some more gauze and antiseptic for her back and went back into the room.

Barnes was sprawled out on his bed, still as a corpse, fast asleep.

It was cliched to say someone looked young or innocent when asleep, but it still tended to be true. His face had softened, losing the hard lines around his mouth and eyes, and the cautious watchfulness that seemed to keep his whole body tense. His breathing was deep and raspy, just on the edge of snoring.

With a little twisting she was able to get the worst of her wounds bandaged up. After double checking to make sure she’d put the “do not disturb” sign up, she covered him with the spare blanket from the dresser, climbed into her bed and fell asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t know where he was.

 He wasn’t supposed to sleep on mission. He needed to be awake, alert. Take out the target, don’t rest till it’s done. He slept at base, if at all. Sleep was for the ice. Not soft beds and a knit blanket on top of him. 

There was someone else in the room, breathing slow and deep. Had he been captured? he was never supposed to be captured. Death was better. He needed to get out. Get back to base. He shouldn’t be here.

_No. Stop. Breathe. Open your eyes. Remember._

He opened his eyes and concentrated on the stained motel ceiling focusing on his breathing. In, count to eight, out through a count of eight. Calming his heartbeat and steadying his respiration. Like sniping. He wasn’t at base because there was no base to be at anymore. He wasn’t the soldier anymore. He was free.

When he felt calm, he turned his head to look at Newbury. She was fast asleep in her bed, curled on her side with her back to him. This was real. He was free. No more cryo, no more missions. He had no idea what, exactly, he _was_ going to do. But whatever it was it would be his decision.

Of course, the idea of making that decision was overwhelming. To the point he shied away from it, rolling to his feet and striding to the bathroom to deal with the sudden urgency in his bladder. 

After a piss and some water splashed on his face he felt better, the last of the confusion fading. Back in the room, he found a shirt in the bags Newbury had brought and pulled it on over his head, then went over to the other side of her bed to study her.

There was a scar that bisected her left eye brow, continuing down her cheek. He guessed it to be at least a few years old, done with a sharp knife and not stitched well, if at all. She wore glasses, which now sat on the nightstand beside her, and that eye had been slightly dilated, so he guessed whatever scarred her face had damaged the eye. She’d admitted it was her weak side. He made a mental note to ask her how well she saw in general. There was a story to that, possibly connected to being captured by Hydra, but he suspected it predated it. 

She woke a few minutes later, startling when she saw him and pressing a hand to her chest. “Jesus,” she muttered, reaching for her glasses and slipping them on as she sat up. “Good morning.”

“Who am I?” he asked.

With a look of concern, she said slowly, “James Barnes.”

He shook his head sharply. “No. I mean. . . Who was I? Who was James Barnes?”

Understanding dawned and she rubbed a hand over her face. “Uh. . . You were born in Brooklyn, in 1917 or thereabouts. You grew up with Steve Rogers - the man on the bridge. You were best friends. You were drafted for WWII in ’43. Got captured and held as a POW in Romania. That was where you got your first few doses of the super soldier serum. You were rescued by Captain Rogers. With him, you formed the Howling Commandos and ripped through the Hydra bases strewn about Europe. On one of those you fell from a train in the Alps and lost your arm. Hydra got a hold of you then and started making you into the Winter Soldier.”

They were facts. Probably learned in a history class or his file in Hydra. They didn’t really tell him who he _was_. Why the man on the bridge - Steve - had been willing to let him kill him rather than keep fighting. 

It must have shown on his face, because she sighed, rubbing her face again. “All right. I have an idea. Let me get dressed, we’ll eat some breakfast and see if we can get you some answers.”

Two hours later, he was at the Smithsonian, walking through the Captain America exhibit, Newbury trailing after him. She’d bought the tickets and steered him to the doorway and then given him free rein to go where he wanted. He kept his head down, tucked under the ball cap she’d shoved onto his head on the way out of the diner they’d had breakfast at. She’d ordered for him, some huge platter with pancakes, bacon, eggs and potatoes. Plus coffee, though that had taken a couple tries for him to find palatable.

The display area was dark and more crowded than he’d expected it to be in the middle of the week. There was a narrator, droning on above their heads. He listened with half an ear, more interested in the pictures and write ups on the wall. The pictures of the other Commandos stirred things in that spot in his mind. Dim memories, vague emotion. Jones. Falsworth. Dugan. Names completely foreign to him yet somehow burned in his bones.

 Then they came to a face he couldn’t deny was familiar. He’d seen it in the mirror this morning.

The write up for James Buchanan Barnes had little more information than what Newbury had rattled off half asleep this morning. It was the picture that hit him. The old newsreel footage running on the screen in front. Him in an Allied uniform. Planning with Steve. _Laughing_ with Steve. One of the good guys. A hero.

_I’m with you till the end of the line._

_God Stevie, look at that shiner. What were you thinking?_

_Right, ‘cause you got nothing to prove._

_I thought you were taller._

Fingers were digging into his arm, helping him balance, keeping him upright. “Breathe,” Newbury whispered in his ear. “Walk with me, we’ll find somewhere to sit.” 

He staggered along at her side, breathing his sniper breathing and trying to beat back the rush of memory and emotion. They were disjointed, more flickers of emotion tied to words out of context than full memories. He’d been a good person. Loyal, proud, funny. He’d been a goddamned _person_.

Newbury shoved him onto a bench and pressed on his shoulder until he lowered his head till he was hunched over. His ears stopped roaring and he no longer felt like he might fall over. She sat next to him and kept her hand on his back, standing guard and smiling reassuringly at anyone who glanced their way.

After the rush of memory, he had to deal with the overwhelming anger. At what had been done to him. Taken from him. It would have been better to die the hero people thought him than to be twisted and warped into the Soldier. Maybe it was better not to remember. There was only grief there.

When he’d gotten a handle on it and could breathe normally, Newbury asked, “You want to get out of here?” He nodded stiffly and stood with her, keeping his head down and eyes forward as she lead him out of the display, then the museum in general.

She parked him on another bench, this one outside in the National Mall, under the bright blue sky and warm spring sun. She muttered something about being back in a minute and jogged off somewhere behind him. He tried to keep his mind blank. If he thought about it, any of it, he might snap entirely. He didn’t know if there was any coming back from that.

Newbury reappeared, holding out a chocolate covered ice cream cone and a pretzel. “You may choose one, or take both. Because I’m nice.”

He chose the ice cream, which didn’t seem to surprise her at all. She sat next to him on the bench and peeled off a hunk of pretzel. The ice cream was sweet and cold and the way the chocolate gave under his teeth was oddly comforting. She’d teased him at breakfast that he had a sweet tooth. He supposed it was more evidence she was right.  
 They ate in silence a few moments before she asked, “You want to talk about it?”

He sort of wanted another ice cream. That was as far as he could think at this particular moment. Well, she didn’t expect anything from him. Maybe honesty was all right. “I don’t know what to do.”

She looked at him, chewing her pretzel. “In what time scale? Because for now we can go back to the motel and decide what food cuisine you’d like to try next.”

That appealed almost as much as the ice cream. Though he sort of wanted more of the cornbread she’d brought him last night. “I can’t hide in the motel forever.”

“No,” she conceded. “You can’t. You will need to make a decision at some point. But it doesn’t have to be today and it doesn’t necessarily need to be one big one. It could be a series of smaller ones.”

He ate the last couple bites of ice cream with extreme prejudice. She handed him a napkin without a word. He halfheartedly wiped the chocolate and ice cream drips off his hands, then crushed the napkin in a fist. “I’m not sure I even know the question.”

Popping the last bite of pretzel in her mouth, she brushed the salt off her fingers as she chewed. “It’s not about who you were,” she said finally, looking out across the lawn, not him. “Trauma changes everyone, and yours was a hell of a lot bigger than most. The question isn’t who James Barnes was. He died in the Alps seventy years ago. So you need to decide you you’re _going_ to be. Tomorrow, next week, a year from now. You want to be a normal guy? You can do that. The go bag has paperwork. We can make you a life, enough to get a job and an apartment. You can keep your head down, figure out how to live in this time. Be James Barnes the second.”

He tried to picture it. What skills did he have? What could he do with a metal arm and huge gaps in his memory? Something blue collar. He could drive a truck, work a drill, swing a hammer. It would be a start. A step. He’d make new friends, drink cheap beer. Maybe someday he’d feel ready to look Steve in the eye again.

“What’s my other option?” he asked, studying her profile.

“Be the Solider, on your terms. There’s plenty of work in the world for a mercenary with your skills, sad to say. Get a handler, get some good guns, take jobs that feel right to you, based on whatever sense of morality you form. Use what they taught you and turned you into for your own purposes.”

That, sadly, was easier to picture. More comfortable. He knew how to strategize. To plan a hit and carry it out. Choosing his jobs would be novel. Knowing the who and the why and deciding if they really deserved it or not. Turn his back forever on the past that seemed determine to haunt him.

He reached out and touched the scar on her face with his metal hand. She flinched a little, but didn’t move away. “What did you choose?”

Her mouth tilted up in a bitter little smile. “It wasn’t exactly the same kind of choice. But I suppose I picked my version of the soldier. Being soft never got me very far. So I grew hard. Kept me alive.” The smile faded into something sad and she added, softer, “More or less.”

He nodded and looked away from her to give her a moment of privacy. He found himself watching a couple strolling down the path a few yards away. They were sharing an ice cream, both trying to eat it at once and making a mess of it. He could hear them laughing from where he sat and wondered idly what it would be like to be them. Ignorant of the darkness in the world. Secure in who you were and who you loved.

 “I don’t want to go back to the motel yet,” he told her finally.

“Do you want to be alone?” she asked, glancing over at him. He shook his head and she smiled. “We could walk for a while?”

Without replying, he stood and hovered expectantly until she got to her feet as well. Then they started to walk down the path together, not touching, but side by side.

*

The next morning, for the second day in a row, Amanda woke to Barnes staring at her. This time he was crouched down to her level, not standing and looming over her. She managed not to jump, just curling her arm up under her head. “Is this going to be a habit? Because we need to talk about that.”

“What if I want to be both?” he said, ignoring her.

She sighed. “Both what?”

“Both the man and the soldier.”

That got her to wake up a bit more. After their chat on the bench they’d walked for hours, all along the mall, seeing all the war memorials and climbing the steps to the Lincoln memorial. Then they’d ventured out to the city, taking the metro a couple of times to check out different neighborhoods. He’d obligingly followed her into a couple of art museums. He’d wandered into the history of crime museum, which was oddly fascinating. They’d probably spent way too much in the “consequences” display, but it had been that kind of week. They had barely spoken the whole time, simply staying in each other’s orbits and going where the other led. Dinner had been Greek. He’d managed to eat two gyros, a full salad, and two thirds a platter of calamari. The waitress had honestly been impressed. Amanda was considering finding one of those places that gave you food free if you ate the entire impossibly large serving. It would save them a lot of money.

What they had not done, at all, was discuss his history or what the future held. Obviously, he’d been thinking about it. She hoped he’d at least gotten some sleep. “What do you mean be both?”

He frowned a little, looking away from her as he seemed to search for words. “I don’t think I can be the man. Can’t go pretend to be normal. I don’t want to kill for money. I don’t want to be a weapon. I thought. . . maybe I could continue what James Barnes started. Defeat Hydra. And maybe avenge him in the process.”

She’d point out the irony of his word choice at a different time. “There’s a rather poignant saying about vengeance and digging two graves. Are you sure that’s a path you want to go down?”

“It’s not revenge,” he said, looking back at her. “It’s justice. Is anyone else going to find it for me?

Captain Rogers probably would. But he had a lot of other things on his plate. And he wouldn’t know where to start. The info dump on the internet almost certainly held the locations of Hydra bases and the names of higher ups. But it was hidden amongst the other information and would take a long time to pick out. In the mean time, whatever was left of Hydra would be clearing them out and moving on.

“The idea of fucking up Hydra on whatever level possible does appeal,” she admitted.

A line appeared between his brows. “I didn’t intend. . . I don’t expect you to come.”

“I don’t have any other plans at the moment.” She sat up and grabbed her glasses. “Let’s get breakfast and start planning.”

After a stop at a nearby gas station for some maps, they returned to the diner they’d had yesterday’s breakfast at and requested a larger table so Amanda could spread out. Barnes actually ordered his own meal. Well, meals; the appetite wasn’t going anywhere. While they waited, he dumped sugar in his coffee and she opened up the map of the eastern seaboard she’d gotten.

“The base here wasn’t that large. I don’t know who worked there normally, but I think it was more of a temporary home for people on mission or passing through. Hence the selection of go-bags. The biggest base I was taken to on this coast was in Philadelphia,” She tapped the city on her map. “I’m guessing whoever was there didn’t have time to clean it out entirely. If we head there we can probably get some files - either digital or paper - on you and your treatments. It’ll give us names and hopefully some more locations to raid.”

He sipped his coffee and tilted his head to look at it. “You remember how to get there?”

“I don’t remember the name of the street,” she admitted. “But I’m pretty sure I can get there by sight. It’s how I navigate anyway.”

The look he gave her at that was very skeptical and very male. He sipped his coffee again. “You don’t have to be a part of this. You’ve done enough already.”

She hesitated, not entirely sure his motivation for the offer. “I know I’ll be a liability, I’m not a fighter. But I am smart and I know the layout of these places. And I know what to look for in the files.” She sighed. “But if you don’t want me to come, I understand. I just thought-”

“I just assumed you had family to go home to,” he said quietly.

Her chest tightened a little and she busied herself folding the map. “Not as much family as you’d think.” He didn’t comment, just watched her. He’d lost a little of the blank stare that was so unsettling. There was emotion in the gaze now, understanding. He’d come a long way in the last twenty four hours.

“Hydra came to me three years ago,” she said, focusing on pouring herself hot tea and adding a little honey and cream. “Asking me to continue my thesis research on the soldier serum. I wasn’t interested, told them as much. Most SHIELD agents who turned them down, they just killed. But my research was important enough to them to try again. My dad died two days lated. Drunk driving. Classic way for an alcoholic to go, even if he hadn’t had a drink in twenty years. They came back, asked again. I told them to go fuck themselves. Said I’d out them. Then I realized I had no idea how far up they went. Who could I trust? Then my middle sister died. Fell off a cliff while mountain climbing. I got a note. ‘One sister left.’ The next time they approached me, I went.”

“Your sister?”

She shrugged. “Fine, as far as I know. Thinks I’m dead too. They burned my apartment down.” She sipped her tea. “She’d welcome me with open arms, but she’d want me to be the sister she lost and, well, I’m not. Maybe it’s better for her to think I’m dead.”

The waitress came by with their meals and they were silent as she set them down. When she’d gone again Barnes looked at her and the corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly. “So I’m acquaintance level two?”

It took her a moment to make the connection, then she laughed. “I suppose you are.”

“You have your own justice to find,” he added.

She smiled and she didn’t need a mirror to know it was hard and angry. “I guess we’ll need to dig three graves.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you want to do something about your. . . scruff?”

They had spent the day getting ready to leave for Philadelphia. Buying more supplies, including luggage. Researching train schedules. They split up briefly to find ATMs as far from their hotel as possible and empty the cards they had. Two of the accounts had been closed, prompting them to ditch the cards and hurry their plans.

Now they were back in the motel, Amanda packing while he cleaned any traces they had left behind. At her words, he lifted a hand and rubbed it over his jaw, beard growth catching on the rough skin of his palm. “I don’t remember how,” he admitted.

She stopped in her folding and looked over at him. “You don’t remember how to shave?” He shook his head and she tipped her head back, blowing out a breath. It wasn’t quite exasperation, though there was some of that in it. It was more like, despite everything she’d seen and experienced, she could still be surprised by what have been done to him.

“Can you do it?” he asked, having the odd feeling he should do something to make her feel better.

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “I - Maybe? Not sure I want to know what would happen if I come towards your face with something sharp.”

He started to protest, but stopped himself. He’d been fairly stable since the breakdown at the Smithsonian. But the training and imprinting was still there. Being as vulnerable as he would need to be to let her shave him would almost certainly trigger something.

“I can cut your hair,” she offered. She turned back to the suitcase she’d been packing and dug a moment before pulling out the toiletries kit from the Hydra go-bag. “There’s salon scissors in here.”

He took a moment to assess if that had a risk of triggering him. He didn’t think so, though had no recollection of what a haircut was like. It had to be better than attempting to shave. He nodded and stood, walking ahead of her to the bathroom.

She sat him on the edge of the tub, facing out, and climbed into the basin behind him with scissors and a comb. There was a brief pause while she got herself sorted, or maybe gave herself a silent pep talk. He tried not to get nervous, but it was unsettling that he couldn’t see her and knew she had something sharp in her hand. Then he felt her pat his shoulder gently and she started to comb his hair.

It was surprisingly soothing, easing away the tension that had built. Her hands were cool and very precise. She worked slowly, picking away at any knots and tangles very gently. He felt the occasional tug, but no pain. The scissors snipped on and off, dealing with things she apparently couldn’t comb through. He flinched a little at the sounds, though he couldn’t follow the mental threads to what the sound reminded him of.

When she started cutting his hair in earnest, she started talking. “In case you’re worried I’m going to give you a bowl cut or something, let me assure you this is not the first time I’ve cut men’s hair. See, in med school everyone tends to be very busy and very broke. Girls usually grew their hair out or just chopped it off bluntly. But if guys didn’t want to shave their heads someone needed to cut it properly. I could make fifty bucks a semester with my passable skills. So you might end up with a hair cut twenty years out of style, but at least you won’t look like the Asset anymore.”

He was starting to wonder why she had suddenly decided to be talkative, when the last couple of days she’d spoken only slightly more than he did. Then she ran the comb through his hair a few more times and ruffled his hair. And he realized she’d been talking to hide the sound of the scissors.

“All done,” she said, ruffling his hair again. “Check the mirror.”

The hair ruffling stirred that spot in the back of his mind again. Someone had done that to him. Or maybe he’d done it to someone else. He left it alone, standing to go look in the mirror above the sink. 

She hadn’t taken that much off, it was still far longer than it had been in the Smithsonian pictures. It looked. . . tidier, though, so the scruff still on his face looked more like an aesthetic choice rather than being unkempt. Another step towards being a person and not a weapon.

“We can find an electric razor for the beard,” Newbury said. He glanced over to find her fluffing out her shirt to remove the hairs clinging to it. “Before it gets too crazy. I don’t think you need any skill to shave with one of those.”

She made to step out of the tub and he reached out instinctively, taking her hand so she could balance. Her gaze flicked to his face when he did it, but she just curled her fingers around his and braced herself on him to climb out. “Thanks.”

He nodded. He should thank her, too, but there was too much bubbling at the surface right then. Maybe she understood, because she just gave him a little smile, wiped the scissors off with toilet paper and slipped past him to continue her packing.

After a stop at the front desk to officially check out, they dragged their new suitcases onto the Metro. They had to change lines halfway to Union Station, and took the opportunity to pop topside and find an electronics store. There, they got a laptop, external hard drive, a fistful of flash drives and a bag to carry it all in with their last credit card. It would be cash only from here on. He hoped the Philadelphia base had supplies or he might have to stoop to taking some mercenary jobs after all.

At ten pm they climbed onto a train headed north.

“It feel strange,” Newbury said, as the train pulled out of the station, lurching forward on the rails. “I keep waiting to get caught. To get noticed.”

He had to admit, he rather felt the same. They’d been making an effort to stay under the radar, but had taken some risks using the ATMs and credit cards. Maybe they just weren’t high enough on Hydra’s list to bother with, but that didn’t feel right, either. They’d kept her alive as a prisoner for three years. They’d spent seventy years on him. They were both high value assets. Hell, with him gone, she was even more important, if they wanted to start over with someone else. Finding one or both of them should be the first thing the new leaders would want.

“They aren’t looking for us,” he realized. He looked over to find her studying him in confusion. “They are looking for you. And they’re looking for me. But not us together.”

“You think that makes a difference?”

“You look for what you’re expecting to see. If I was looking for a single woman with dark hair, I wouldn’t pay attention to those with a partner.”

“And they sure as hell don’t expect you to have someone with you.” She leaned back in her seat. “Huh. Maybe that will buy us some time.”

*

Amanda supposed everyone had moments in their life when they wondered how, exactly, they’d gotten to this point. And the moments could be good or bad. She’d had several in med school and her internship. Hard to wrap your mind around that first cadaver or mysterious rash. Stepping off the plane in Rwanda for her first Doctors Without Borders mission had been another. 

Tonight was another one of those moments. Dressed head to toe in black, armed with two guns and a hunting knife, crouched next to history’s most prolific assassin, casing what looked like, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly normal office building.

“You’re sure this is the place?” Barnes asked her, eyeing the building skeptically.

“I am,” she said. She didn’t blame him for the questioning. It really did look benign. “I think the topside floors really are administrative but there’s sub-basement floors with labs and such. I spent six months here last year, they only moved me when they woke you up.”

Barnes huffed out a breath and nodded, scanning the grounds. “I’m going to do a circuit, find an entrance. Stay here.”

She looked over at him. “Are you going to come back for me or are you doing the macho going in by yourself to protect me thing? Because if forties sexism is the first part of your memory to come back we’re going to have a problem.”

He turned slowly to look at her with an expression that couldn’t decide if it was irritated, exasperated or amused. “I’ll come back and get you.” She nodded and he slipped away, moving all but silently, which didn’t seem possible for a man the size and ladened with gear as he was.

The building was in what was commonly known as an office park. A cluster of utilitarian office buildings scattered about lawns and greenery. She was able to pick Barnes out as he made his way around the building, a moving shadow among darker shadows. 

It took him about twenty minutes to return to her. “No guards. There’s a back entrance with a key pad.” He moved away again and this time she followed him. She still had the badges and keys from the DC office, on the off chance they would open doors up here. When they reached the door he stood guard while she flipped through the badges, trying all of them until the door made a clunking noise and she was able to yank it open.

Barnes slipped inside and she followed, tugging the door closed behind her. This left them in a long dark hallway lined with doors. Barnes held a hand up and she stayed still as he listened, then he looked back at her, pointed at her holstered gun, and waved her forward. She unholstered the pistol, took her safety off and started down the hallway with him, gun pointed down and right. 

They walked in sync, one step at a time. Amanda tried to walk as lightly as he did, and succeeded, for the most part. At the end of the hall there was a T junction with another, identical hallway. To the left there was a sign for fire stairs so they chose that direction. The fire stairs were also badge access, which was as good a sign that they weren’t actually fire stairs as any.

Another pause while she rotated through the badges again. They lucked out once more, though she had the vague worry the luck was going to run out sooner rather than later. The door opened to reveal a set of metal stairs, leading down into darkness.

They both stood there a moment, looking through the doorway in dismay. “That’s very ominous looking,” she muttered under her breath. To her surprise, he nodded.

He leaned over, invading her personal space, to whisper in her ear. “I’ll go first. Stay at my six, hold onto my belt if you need to. Do what I do and say.” She nodded eagerly and he added, “And don’t shoot me.”

Her mouth opened a little, possibly to ask him if that had been a joke, but he stepped past her and started down the stairs before she could get a word out. Gritting her teeth, she hooked three fingers into his belt and followed a step behind him.

The door swung closed behind them, plunging them into complete darkness. Amanda focused on counting her steps and holding onto him, trusting him to know where he was going. The serum did heighten the senses, in theory, though she didn’t think it gave him proper night vision. Still, he got them to the bottom and actually reached back and patted her hand in what she decided to take as comfort once they hit the bottom.

This hallway was at least lit, though it was far dimmer than the moon and spotlights that had lit the upstairs. The other difference from the upstairs is that she was fairly certain there were people working down here. She could hear the hum of equipment and the quiet murmur of voices that was probably a radio or TV rather than live conversation. It still indicated a live body present nearby.

Barnes squeezed her hand and released her, stepping forward. She continued to follow him as close as she could, as they made their way forward. The first two rooms were file rooms and she made a mental note to try to come back later. The third doorway was on the left and it was lit brightly with overhead lights, the yellowish glow spilling out into the hall.

They flattened against the wall outside the door, Barnes between her and it. For a few heartbeats they stood in silence. Amanda smelled the familiar scent of bleach, with a faint hint of blood and something she couldn’t place. She tapped his hand and when he looked at her she mouthed _Lab_. He nodded, then pointed to her and gestured up, then himself and down. He’d go low and she’d go high. She nodded to show her understanding and he held up three fingers. They counted down and he turned into the doorway, crouching, while she stepped forward, gun up.

There were only two guys in the room, both men her age in white coats, bent over their work. They were dead before they noticed there was company. Amanda sort of expected a commotion to start up down the hall, but their guns had been silenced and the radio playing on the counter might have covered up even the moderate pops. She eased into the room, and when Barnes didn’t stop her, strode over to the workstation one of the men had been at and shoved his chair away so she could peck at it.

Barnes walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, glancing at the papers and models strewn around. “What is all this?”

She focused on the computer, scanning for files relating to him. “Bio-mechanical prototypes. Like your arm. They were working on making cyborgs.” She found a few relevant files and plugged a flash drive into the terminal and started downloading them. “Am I destroying files while I’m in here?”

“Might as well,” he said, inspecting a robotic looking leg.

He’d been talking slightly more since they’d left DC. And his speech was leaning more casual, more how she spoke, in fact. There was probably some psychological reason for that. DC certainly hadn’t been a pleasant place for him. That, plus his decision to move forward with his life, had probably loosened up some of his conditioning. And he hadn’t shown any signs of physical or mental degradation. The rack of serum still sat in her luggage back at the hotel, but she was beginning to become optimistic that she wouldn’t need to use it.

Most of the files were saved on some sort of cloud storage. She pulled off what she could and set them to delete after her files were done. She tucked the flash drive into her pocket and turned back to him in time to see a Hydra scientist step into the room.

There was a moment while all three of them seemed frozen. Then she saw recognition cross the new guy’s features as he focused on Barnes and started to say, “For the good of the-”

He was cut off when Amanda drew her gun and shot him through the head. He dropped and Barnes shook his head sharply, as if trying to clear it.

“You with me, Barnes?” she asked cautiously.

Rubbing his forehead like it ached, he replied, “What the hell was that?”

“A trigger phrase. To make you compliant.”

He lifted his head swiftly and glared at her. “You didn’t think that was important to tell me?”

“I didn’t think about it! Your handlers used them when you were being difficult after missions. I wasn’t part of that.” Though she had seen it in action. The effect was to turn him into an automaton, answer all questions and obeying all orders. She imagined the only reason they didn’t keep him in that state all the time was that his missions had required last minute changes and the ability to adapt to unforeseen circumstances.

Barnes lifted his gun in her direction and fired. She flinched as the computer terminal next to her shattered. “We need to move,” he said, sounding pissed, though she had no idea if it was at her, Hydra, or the world in general. Considering he’d shot the computer and not her, she was hoping it was one of the later two.

She hustled to follow him as they went deeper into the base. They ran across one security guard, who Barnes took down silently, snapping his neck after a brief round of hand to hand combat. Amanda kept well clear of it. They found a supply room and raided it for more weapons and cash, which went into the backpack they’d brought along for just that purpose. Amanda strapped it on so he wouldn’t be encumbered, though it slowed her down a little.

“We should get going,” she whispered as they moved back into the hallway. 

“We’re not done yet,” he growled.

Grabbing his arm so he’d look at her, she got into his personal space. “You promised me this was justice, not vengeance. Do not risk both our lives because you think you owe these people.”

He glared down at her a moment, breathing like a wounded animal. She forced herself to hold his gaze, not backing down. It had been a hell of a few days, she wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t kill her, but if this was going to work then this needed to be a partnership, not her following him around like a puppy.

There was a sound at the other end of the hallway and he jerked his head. He grabbed her by the arm and steered her back into the supply closet, pressing her into the wall next to the door, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

Amanda’s fight or flight instinct had always, since she was a child, been fight. She was the toddler who kicked and screamed as her mother dragged her out the store. The kindergartener that got sent home for punching the third grade bully in the nose. So when a big, strong, dangerous man pinned her to the wall, her first thought was to bite and gouge. Sense prevailed, though and she relaxed, despite the lumpy backpack digging into her spine and his harsh breath in her ear.

A group of three or four men passed the doorway, speaking in what sounded to her untrained ear like German. Something about them - their voices or their words - made Barnes’s breathing pick up and his hand tighten on her arm. Hesitantly, she lifted a hand and patted his hip in what she hoped registered as comfort. His grip loosened and she thought she heard him snort a little in laughter.

When the group’s footsteps had faded into nothing, he lifted his hand and rested his forehead on the wall next to her.

“Did you know them?” she asked softly.

He shook his head slightly, hair brushing her cheek. “I don’t know. One of them sounded familiar. In a way that made me panic. Thought avoiding him would be a good idea.” He sighed deeply and leaned back. “You’re right. Let’s go.”  She didn’t comment on belatedly winning the glare off, nor did she mention the file room they’d walked past that she wanted to look through. Instead, she just nodded. He pushed away from her and eased the door open, checking the hallway. Apparently finding it clear, he stepped out and she followed along.

 Fortunately, his sense of direction seemed much better than hers. He lead them out of the base unerringly. There were still a few feet from the stairs up to the service when an alarm started going off over their heads. Barnes swore. Well, she assumed he swore, it wasn’t in English, but the inflection was pretty clearly expletive.

They sprinted to the door and Barnes used his metal arm to wrench it open despite the emergency lock. He pushed her ahead of him on the stairs and kept a hand on her back all the way, hurrying her along. Once outside, he pulled her into the shadows of the trees and took the backpack from her. They peeled off gloves and visible weapons and shoved them into the bag.

“Walk slow,” he told her, guiding her through the trees to the sidewalk. He had the backpack slung over his shoulder casually. “We’re on a walk to the bus stop or something. Don’t look nervous. Don’t fidget.”

He had dropped into an easy, rolling gait that was similar to his normal prowl, but less purposeful. She took a few deep breaths and fell into step with him, concentrating on keeping loose and relaxed. They followed the paved path out of the office park, ignoring the security guards that seemed to materialize. As an afterthought, she unzipped her jacket to reveal the grey shirt underneath so they weren’t so blatantly in all black.

When they hit the sidewalk, Barnes picked up his pace a little and she matched him. The public transportation in Philadelphia wasn’t as efficient and easy to navigate as the one in DC, but SEPTA stops were more plentiful and the trains were still running out to their hotel.

“How many trigger phrases are there?” he asked once they were sitting on the ugly vinyl bench seat.

“Six that I know of. Three in English, two in Russian, one German. I think they were different versions of the same thing. Probably different levels of conditioning.”

He stared out the window. “Do you know them?”

She let out a long, slow breath, not sure what the right answer was. “I know the English ones. I could probably fake one of the Russian ones, but God knows what I’d actually be saying.”

For a long time he didn’t reply. Then, “You should use it. If I ever try to hurt you. Use it to stop me.”

That surprised her. As did her reaction to it. “I don’t want to do that. I won’t do that.”

He turned to look at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why not?”

Finding a way to express it was hard. How on earth did you explain something you just knew bone deep was _wrong_. “Because you’re a person. And people shouldn’t have off switches.”

Barnes stared at her another moment, then nodded a little and turned back to the windows. Amanda had the oddest feeling that they’d both just passed some sort of test.


	5. Chapter 5

Some of his memories were hazy and dream like, so that he wasn’t entirely sure if they were real things or just things he wanted to be real. Others were clearer, complete with dialogue and associated emotions. Those were most often associated with Steve Rogers or the men who had been Commandos. If he closed his eyes he could picture a smoky bar, a glass of good scotch and laughing over war stories. He liked those memories, went back to them as touchstones when the rest of the world overwhelmed him. It was real and he’d been happy and while it had been Bucky Barnes laughing with his friends, the framework of the weapon he’d become had already been built. That was the man he was trying to get back to.

And then there were some things, some skills, that he had no idea how he got them. Which was how he’d ended up spending far too much money at the electronics store a mile from their hotel and was now trying to rig up some sort of earpiece comms he and Newbury could use on their next mission. On the table next to him, their brand new IDs were drying.

When they’d arrived in Philadelphia, they’d both wanted to get a nicer hotel room than the one they’d had in Virginia. Unfortunately, the nice places they’d tried had wanted an ID, even with them paying in cash. So they’d ended up in another hole-in-the-wall place on the outskirts of the city. The room was just as cramped, though they’d managed to squeeze a small table and chairs in one corner by sacrificing the balcony doors. He’d taken it over with his gear while Newbury spread out on her bed, going through the files they’d gotten from the base the night before.

 They hadn’t talked much about the mission, or their little. . . discussion in the hallway. Mostly because he knew she’d been right, and didn’t feel the need to admit that out loud to her. He’d meant it when he told her this was about justice and not revenge. Apparently, he’d just underestimated how tempting vengeance could be. The revelation that there were trigger phrases that could turn him into a mindless puppet again, undoing all the progress he’d made, had filled him with a rage stronger than any other emotion he’d felt since fighting Steve on the carrier.

It would be negative emotions that he felt strongly.

He glanced over at Newbury, glowering at the computer like it had personally offended her. She had a notebook, post-its and a book of maps spread out on the bed around her, periodically taking notes or marking up maps. She’d done well the night before. Certainly had no fear of taking a kill shot when needed. And she might have saved his life by not letting him run off, guns blazing. He still had no idea who the men in the hallway had been, but he remembered the spike of almost debilitating panic he’d felt at hearing his voice. All he could think to do was hide, dragging Newbury with him.

She’d patted him gently, in sympathy or comfort, while he pinned her to the wall. His hip had tingled well into the night. Someday he’d get used to being touched in kindness and not violence.

With a sigh, she closed the lap top and climbed off the bed, going to their snack stash and digging out the bag of Doritos he’d grabbed as a last minute impulse. She leaned on the wall by the bathroom and munched with extreme prejudice.

“Problem?” he asked.

“I need a break,” she said, voice muffled as she continued to chew. “My eyes are bleeding.”

Well, she had been staring at it for several hours now. He stood, carrying the earpieces over to her. “Help me try these out.”

She looked at the comms skeptically, then put the chip bag down, brushed off her fingers and held a hand out for one of them. “Is this going to electrocute my brain?”

“That is not my goal.”

That earned him a look that indicated she wasn’t entirely sure if he was joking or not. He was sure to keep a straight face as she fiddled the earpiece into her ear. After doing the same, he headed out of the room. “Can you hear me?” he asked, once in the hotel hallway.

There was the slightest pause, then, “Yes.”

The little infusion of warmth that caused was probably pride at a job well done. “I’m going to test distance. Stand by.”

He stayed silent as he made his way down the hallway and out of the hotel, onto the sidewalk. “Where did you learn to shoot?” he asked as he walked towards the little cluster of take-out restaurants a couple blocks from the hotel.

“My father,” she replied. Her voice was oddly tinny in his ear, but still recognizably her. “He was an Army Ranger with three girls. We got taught to shoot and fight and fix cars and all that fun stuff.”

That explained a great deal. “You can fight?”

“Not like you can. But I was a bit of a scrapper, as my granny used to say, and he decided it was easier to ensure I could win than to try to get me to stop entirely.”

He could picture, very clearly, a scrappy little thing with their fists up, ready to right the world’s wrongs. Though, instead of a little brunette girl with skinned knees it was a whip thin blond boy with a split lip. It was so clear, and the protective surge that came with it so strong, that he had to stop in his tracks and breathe a moment.

“You all right?” Newbury asked in his ear, sounding very far away. “Your breathing’s gone all ragged.” When he didn’t respond she added, “Barnes? You with me?”

“I’m here,” he ground out. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” she muttered, but then lapsed into silence, giving him time to sort himself out.

When the memory and emotion faded he forced himself to start walking again. “I’m getting lunch. Preference?”

“If you bring me back a cheesesteak I’ll forgive you for scaring me like that. Extra onions.”

He felt his mouth twitch into a ghost of the smile and he beelined for the cheesesteak place.

On his way back, the earpiece popped with feedback and Newbury’s voice came on. “You should get back here, we’re on the news.” She didn’t sound panicked, but there was definitely a little concern in her voice. So he jogged the rest of the way to the hotel, boots heavy on the stairs.

When he got in the room she was standing at the end of the bed watching a special news report.

“. . . motive for the break in. Sources say the information and prototypes stolen were designs for new prothetic styles hoping to ease the lives of returning veterans. The company is offering a reward for any information on the thieves and stolen materials”

“Apparently, Hydra’s front for those labs was a bioengineering firm,” Newbury said, sounding grim, hitting the button to turn the TV off as they went to commercial.

He dug his earpiece out and put it down on the table, before setting the bag of food next to it. “Descriptions?”

“No, not that they released to the media. I’m guessing if they had any idea who we were they wouldn’t have gotten the public involved at all. This is them panicking a bit.”

“We should still lay low. Get out of town.” He handed her her sandwich. “Any progress?” he asked, gesturing at the laptop.

“Some.” She sat on the edge of the bed to unwrap her sandwich. He noticed she smiled when she saw he’d remembered extra onions. “Near as I can tell you weren’t being stored in the states when in cryo.” She paused and looked at him. “I feel like I’m going to end up referring to you like you’re cargo and that feels weird. I’m just going to say The Asset and not ‘you.’” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, mouth full of cheese steak.

Apparently taking that as permission to speak freely, she continued, “The Asset arrived in San Francisco about a week before Nick Fury was shot. They brought me down to the DC office around that same time. So what I’m thinking is that the defrosting equipment is in San Francisco. And, I’m guessing, the cryo chamber. If so, that base has to be somewhere you - The Asset - visited a lot. Would be a good next stop for us to get more information.”

Her logic certainly followed. He tried to dig out some sort of memory of this other base. Of waking up and getting his orders. There was nothing. The wipe after the fight on the bridge had scrambled most of his short term memory, as intended. “Getting across country is harder than getting from DC to here.”

“Yes, it is. I think taking a plane would be a death sentence. There are trains, but it’s more of a tourist thing than transportation.” She looked up at him. “I think we need a car.”

*

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

They were now on day two of car hunting. Between the two of them, they knew enough about cars to be able to determine whether or not they were getting ripped off or the car would make it 3000 miles to California. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people looking to sell terrible cars in the greater Philadelphia area. So they had been more or less in agreement on walking away from all of the previous options.

Now, however, Barnes was staring at the car in front of them so intently she half expected little hearts to start floating above his head.

“This is a forty year old car,” she hissed at him.

He didn’t look at her. “The engine’s solid, no major accidents, only one owner and well maintained. Solid American construction and she’s only asking five grand for it.”

“It’s a 1973 Mustang in fire engine red. It’s not exactly a subtle, on the lam kind of car.” He still had that besotted look on his face and she threw up her hands. “You were on ice when muscle cars were popular, you can’t possibly be having some sort of nostalgia thing. Is this just one of those things written into male DNA?”

Finally, he looked over at her. “I like the color. It reminds me of the lipstick the women in my very vague memories wear.”

Amanda wagged a finger at him. “You are not sob storying me into getting this car. That’s fighting dirty.”

“Did you see the size of the trunk? We could fit a body in there.”

She couldn’t hold in the exasperated growl that came out of her. Behind her, she heard a chuckle as the owner rejoined them. “Goodness, that sounded familiar. How long have you two been together?”

Barnes gave Amanda a look that bordered on panicked, hopefully not at the implication that he might date her. She just laughed and shook her head. “Sometimes it feels like decades.” That changed the panic to a glare, which she pointedly ignored as she turned to the owner. “What’s the gas mileage like?”

“Well, my husband replaced the engine oh, eight-ten years ago. Fuel injected, V8 so it’s not great, but better than most SUVs. Twenty five highway, thereabouts?” She smiled softly and patted the roof. “Lot of fond memories in the car.”

Well, for a used car it wasn’t _terrible_. And the car had obviously been well taken care of. Amanda sighed and glanced back at Barnes. He’d schooled his face back into careful indifference, but was still staring at the bright red car. With another sigh and a glance heavenward for strength, she pulled out the roll of money in her pocket and counted cash out into the nice lady’s hand.

“I’m not sure how I won the discussion,” Barnes admitted as they drove away.

“This car is the first thing you’ve wanted,” she explained. “Other than the occasional decision about food you don’t seem to actually _want_ anything. After seventy years of obedient order following, you wanted this car enough to argue with me. Like a normal person. So I let you win.” She glanced over at him. “Besides, if I looked at one more mid-nineties Honda Civic that smelled like old feet I was going to stab someone.”

His mouth quirked slightly. “Thank you.”

Amanda had never driven across the country, or really done any sort of significant road trip as an adult. She’d actually gone to med school at Stanford, less than an hour south of San Francisco, but she’d flown back and forth to that and her later residency in Seattle. She knew, vaguely, that highway 80 would take you straight across the country with no fuss and no muss. But she was embarking on a trip she might not return from, and some small melancholy part of her wanted to see home one more time. So after packing, checking out, and a late lunch they climbed into their freshly gassed up Mustang and headed south on 95, towards South Carolina.

They stopped for gas and dinner about five hours later just outside of Richmond, which felt a little bit like coming full circle. Walking back out to the car she asked him if he wanted to take a turn behind the wheel when he dropped a bombshell.

“How can you not know how to drive?” she asked him, gaping across the roof of the car in disbelief.

“I assume I did at one point,” he replied, door open and one foot in the passenger seat.

Since she was obviously not going to get spelled, she yanked the driver’s door open and climbed in behind the wheel. “How did you get around to your missions?”

He shrugged. “Other people drove me.”

She shook her head, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back to the highway. “You just got chauffeured around? You were like a Hydra assassin diva? The Britney Spears of shadowy government agency assets.”

There was a moment of rather heavy silence and she winced inwardly. They didn’t really talk about the whole Hydra assassin thing, at least not in such explicit terms. She probably shouldn’t have used snark to start the conversation.

“I like that you make it sound ridiculous,” he said finally, and she was so surprised she almost missed the highway entrance. “It weighs down on me,” he continued. “All of it. And then you point out something like that and. . . it weighs less.”

She couldn’t answer right away, swallowing around the sudden tightness in her throat. “Well, if there’s one thing surgeons are good at, it’s black humor.”

“Soldiers, too.” He glanced out the window. “Maybe that’s why I like it. It’s familiar.”

The silence that stretched between them now was far more comfortable. Amanda let a few miles roll under the tires before adding, “I’m teaching you how to drive.”

“I expected as much.”

They hit the state line into North Carolina an hour later. By then, Amanda had hit the zone and figured out most of the quirks of the car. The radio worked, though she had to keep fiddling with it when they got out of broadcast range of each station. Barnes was an almost ideal road trip buddy, sitting still and calm in his seat. It wasn’t quite hot enough to keep the AC running, so when she finally gave up playing radio station tag, they rolled the windows down and any conversation they might have made was drown out with the wind noise.

North Carolina passed in a blur. They stopped about halfway through for more gas and some drink and snacks for the road. Barnes managed one of his half smiles when in the space of a two minute conversation with the gas station attendant Amanda’s accent came back. He didn’t comment, not even when they got back to the car.

The quiet was kind of nice. It had been a hell of a few days, not to mention the hellish years before it. There was something about heading down the highway with no real immediate destination, wind whipping your hair around, that made a person feel free. The last three years seemed to melt away. She could pretend she was just a normal woman in a car with a normal man, heading south on an adventure. It was a little bit of cognitive dissonance that she desperately needed.

It was dark by the time they hit the border of South Carolina. Amanda kept her eye on the gas gauge and the time, trying to decide how much longer she had in her before they needed to stop for the night. Eventually, she realized Barnes had nodded off in his seat and was sleeping peacefully, so she gave into her nostalgia and turned off 95 onto 26, heading for the ocean and Charleston. 

Just before midnight, she pulled into the first named hotel with a vacancy sign and turned the engine off, which woke him with a start.

“Where are we?” he asked, squinting at the hotel sign.

“Charleston,” she said, stretching her arms over her head. She waited, expecting him to ask why they’d gone fifty miles out of their way. He didn’t, so she climbed out and headed inside to check in.

Not until they were unlocking their door did it occur to her she could probably get them separate rooms. Barnes hadn’t commented when she’d asked for one, so she assumed he didn’t notice or care. She turned the idea over in her head a little and was surprised to find it unappealing. She should be eager for privacy, but the idea of being alone in the room all night dug a sliver of panic into her chest.

She would unpack all that later. Maybe she’d ask Barnes what he thought of it. Maybe after a few days stuck in a car with each other it would be worth the extra expense to get a second room. Or maybe they’d decide it was okay. In all the world they were the only one the other really had, the only one who knew the other was alive and well. Maybe it was all right to not want to let the other out of their sight.

They dropped their bags on their beds - his closest to the door, as always - and she found herself looking out the window at the hotel parking lot.

“I’m stiff from the drive,” she said, keeping her tone calm and pleasant. She opened her bag and dug out a thick, flannel lined hoodie. “I’m going to take a walk. Don’t wait up.” She could feel him watching her as she shrugged the hoodie on and walked out the door.

After midnight on a weekday tended to be quiet in all but the busiest cities. Amanda walked past a handful of bars and clubs, a few late night restaurants. There was a huge book store that she might have loved to wander through had it been open. A long string of tiny shops selling country and southern ephemera for the tourists.

She had made an effort, when hotel shopping, to get in the general vicinity of the water so within a few minutes she was walking on wooden boardwalk instead of cement sidewalk. Finding a spot along the rail, she leaned on it and looked out at the ocean she’d swam in as a child.

She hadn’t really had any sort of plan, coming here. She’d thought, perhaps, she’d be swamped by childhood memories and weep for everything she’d lost, like the heroine in a literary novel. There were no tears coming, though, and any happy memory she tried to summon was blotted out by her father’s funeral or the bodies of the men she had killed.

A shadow appeared at her side, Barnes mimicking her pose leaning on the rail. She’d heard his footsteps coming up, so he must have meant to warn her.

“You’re from South Carolina,” he said, looking out at the water.

“Originally, yes.” She glanced over her shoulder at the city behind him. “Not here, we lived farther inland. But we came to the beach in the summers when I was little.” She looked back at the still, dark water. “I just wanted to see it again.”

He was silent and she hoped he wasn’t waiting for more. She couldn’t really explain it to herself, so she had no hope of explaining it to him.  
 So it was doubly surprising when he explained it for her. “You’re digging your grave.”

She stared at him a moment, trying to process the shock of emotion that caused. Now, inexplicably, tears threatened and she had to look away and study the reflection of the moon as it rippled and flexed.

“Did it help?” he asked quietly when she didn’t respond.

“No,” she whispered. “But I think the girl I’m saying goodbye to was gone a long time ago.” She sighed. “It’s all rather anticlimactic, to be honest.” He nodded, as if he understood completely.

They stood in silence, both watching the water. She didn’t know what he was thinking about. She thought about summers with her family and the grit of sand under her feet and the way salt water made her hair stiff. The smell of sunscreen and aloe and chocolate cake on her birthday. And when she was done, when she felt the impact of the happy memories and the grief at the loss of a life that simple, she did feel a little better.

She took a deep breath of the salty air and nodded. “Seems like I should toss something in the water. Symbolically.”

Barnes glanced down at her, then scanned the immediate area. He wandered off, then came back a few moments later with a couple of flowers of indiscriminate color. They looked silver in the moonlight.

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking them from him. She dropped them into the water, one by one, then brushed her hands off against each other. “All right. I’m done.”

They pushed off the rail in unison and started back the way they’d come, back towards the hotel. “You know, Barnes, you’re pretty good company.”

He didn’t respond, but she was pretty sure he gave another one of his small, half smiles, safely hidden in the shadows.


	6. Chapter 6

Barnes had found that road trips were an excellent way to learn thing about yourself. In their trek across the country, he had learned he liked coffee with a lot of sugar, that he preferred onion rings to french fries, and his steak rare. He liked windows down better than car air conditioning and when he drove (after a refresher course from Amanda in a an empty WalMart parking lot in the wee hours their third night on the road) he drove too fast and got anxious when other cars got too close. Given the choice, he’d rather stay up late than get up early and he didn’t know the name a single goddamned constellation but knew how to navigate by the stars. 

He learned a great deal about his companion, as well. Amanda hated coffee, but could drink tea all day. She drowned her fries in ketchup, liked mayo on her burgers and you could get her to eat just about anything if you smothered it in melted cheese or added a runny egg. She was a decent driving instructor, a surprisingly good singer (though she’d stopped once she realized he was awake and listening) and didn’t get car sick no matter what was going on. The long stretch of driving across Texas was flat open road. They couldn’t find anything on the radio besides Christian rock and angry men shouting about the Gospels, so they just turned it off and Amanda read out loud from the copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_ she’d picked up at a used bookstore before they left Dallas. At the end she joked about calling him Boo Radley until he retorted he’d simply call her Scout in return.

They stopped in Albuquerque that night and he was almost sad to do so. It had, by far, been the best day he could truly remember. He’d felt safe and human and oddly normal listening to her quiet, calm, faintly accented voice. They shared a room, as they always had and he spent a good hour while she showered and got ready for bed wondering if he could ask her to read to him while he fell asleep. It seemed like it would cross some sort of line that he couldn’t define, but instinctively knew was there.

When they headed out in the morning, she offered to take the first shift to make up for him driving so much the day before. In return he offered to read, which had earned him a brilliant smile. She dug out _The Great Gatsby_ and climbed behind the wheel.

They made it about ten miles before he learned that he did, in fact, get car sick. 

He was crouched by the side of the road, wondering if he could just walk the rest of the way to California to avoid going back in the car, when he heard Amanda walk up behind him. She hunkered next to him, bracing a hand on his shoulder, and handed him a bottle of water. He grunted his thanks and used the first swig to rinse his mouth, then gulped down the rest.

She straightened, standing next to him like a body guard, arms crossed, scanning the terrain. “So if Hydra had just made you read your orders in the car on the way to the mission, none of this would have happened.” She clicked her tongue. “Would have been especially awkward in that mask thing they had you in.”

An image of himself in his old gear, trying to rip the muzzle off in time to puke out the window of a black SUV came to him, immediate and fully formed. And then he started to laugh.

It was a true, proper laugh, the kind that left your ribs aching as you tried to catch your breath. After a while he wasn’t even laughing at the comment or the mental image anymore, but just because he was enjoying laughing. He ended up leaning against Amanda’s leg, metal hand curled around her calf, as he wound down.

When he could breathe again, he looked up at her to find her watching him in amazement. For a moment, he just held her gaze, very aware that his hand was still on her leg. Her face softened into an expression he didn’t really have a name for and she lifted a hand and brushed a few stray locks of hair out of his eyes.

The moment passed and he silently vowed to take it out later and examine it. He gave her calf a little squeeze and let her go. She offered her hand and helped him get to his feet. They walked back to the car shoulder to-shoulder.

The directions she’d printed out said it would take sixteen hours to get to San Francisco, so they had planned to push through without stopping. This had no taken into account roadwork and an accident on highway 5. After almost ninety minutes of crawling through uncomfortably hot countryside, Amanda pulled off the road to get cold drinks and advice from a local. The very nice lady at the Stop n’ Go insisted they needed to skip 5 entirely and head out to the coast.

“Everyone should drive up 1 at least once in their life,” she told them. “Take 46 west when you see it and follow the signs to one. Don’t take 101. You’ll be tempted, but don’t. 1 is a little longer, but it’s worth it.”

And so, a few miles later, when he saw the sign for 46, he glanced over at Amanda. She stopped reading long enough to look over and nod. Then she went back to Gatsby and Daisy and the people stuck in their destructive cycle and he took the exit.

He had to admit, 1 was pretty. It was also windy as hell and occasionally frighteningly narrow. Amanda took the wheel back pretty quickly, not wanting to tax his new driving skills, and they wound their way slowly up the rugged California coast. 

Because of the time they’d lost and the slower pace demanded by the twists and turns of the road, it quickly became clear they weren’t going to make it to San Francisco. They stopped for the night in a small town south of Santa Cruz. They had clam chowder served in sourdough bread bowls for dinner and slept in a hotel close enough to the water that he left the window open to listen to the waves.

Amanda slept soundly in her bed, curled on her side, hands in loose fists under her chin, like she might need to fight, even in sleep. Something had shifted between them in the last few days. He had known her less than a month, which, granted was the amount of time he could clearly remember. There was something in her that seemed to mirror things he was discovering in himself. She was quiet when he craved silence and irreverent when he needed perspective. She’d stayed with him, when she’d been well within her rights to run. And he found that, despite the fact he felt he could probably navigate the world alone if needed, he wanted her with him. 

Watching her sleep, he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to forget his justice and forge a new life. Not alone, but with a woman who accepted him for what he was. It had been a dream of the old him, he was sure of that. There were women scattered throughout his memory and the emotions attached to them were positive, by and large. He’d had girlfriends and lovers. He’d probably hoped to leave the war and start a life, before Hydra had changed his path. 

He didn’t think Amanda was the settle down somewhere quiet kind of girl. And he didn’t think either of them were really ready to let Hydra off the hook. But it was nice, in this quiet place by the sea, to dream for a little while.

*

They reached San Francisco at lunchtime the next day. As always, finding a hotel was top priority. Then they grabbed lunch on the way to recon the Hydra base.

It was in a large brick building, nestled in the middle of a slightly industrial area south of the financial district. Midday, mid-week the street was teeming with people. They stood across the street and down the block, in front of a car detailing place that had gone out of business. Unlike the place in Philadelphia, which had been hidden behind mislabeled doors and under ground, this one was out in the open, in a busy part of the city and was teeming with people.

She could tell from the expression on Barnes’s face he was displeased by this revelation.

“Going to need to reassess our strategy,” he muttered, gesturing for her to start walking away.

“No cat burglar routine?” They headed north, towards Market Street where they could get a cab or other transportation. She had not been up for negotiating driving in San Francisco. “Just as well. If we really want to get decent information we’re going to need to time. Not just the smash and grab we did before.”

He nodded thoughtfully, glancing back over his shoulder at the building. “Were you ever here?”

“No, not with Hydra. I was strictly east coast. The farthest west they ever brought me was Atlanta.” She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. San Francisco spring weather was a chilly as Mark Twain had claimed. “I didn’t even know it existed.”

He nodded again and lapsed into a silence Amanda didn’t feel the need to break. She tried to be as useful as she could, but a master strategist she was not. She’d got them here, navigating all the little social interactions he wasn’t trained for and planning the drive itself. Getting them into the building was his wheelhouse, one hundred percent.

Unfortunately, when he did come up with a plan, it was an absolutely terrible one.

“Are you crazy?” she asked, staring at him, chopsticks halfway to her mouth.

While Chinese would have been more traditional, Amanda had had a craving for sushi and had dragged him across the city to Japantown, not considering exactly how much sushi a man with super soldier metabolism could go through. Fortunately for their budget Barnes had ordered a full katsu dinner and was picking at the rolls she’d ordered, rather than ordering half the menu himself.

In between crunching on fried pork and experimenting with wasabi, he’d explained his idea. Which was, in fact, crazy.

Barnes sipped green tea with an almost zen calm. “By certain definitions, probably.”

She put down the bite of dragon roll she’d been about to enjoy. “We can’t just walk in the front door.”

“You said you’d never been here. No one will know you’re not loyal. They’ll welcome you with open arms. You’ll be returning their prized Asset.” The last actually had a faint tinge of mockery to his tone.

Her stomach actually turned over at the thought of it. “I can’t just hand you over to them. You _know_ what they’ll do to you.”

“If I’m compliant they won’t do it right away. They’ll want a report and to take readings and mess with the arm.” He gestured with his left arm a little. “It’ll buy you time to find what we need.”

“You don’t know that they’ll give me the freedom to do that. You don’t know that there won’t be someone there who’ll recognize me. SHIELD fell weeks ago, you know they’ve been scattering like ants.”

He faltered slightly, but when he spoke his voice was still calm. “It’s a calculated risk.”

“Calculated-” She shook her head and took her glasses off so she could rub her eyes. “Calculated risk.” Shoving her glasses back on she folded her hands and leaned forward a little. “All right. Let’s call your version the best case scenario. Here’s my version: We get in there, someone recognizes me or my name and immediately knows something’s wrong. I get taken to a small room with no windows where I spend a good chunk of the rest of my life. _You_ get taken to the labs, tortured, memory wiped and shoved back into cryo and stored wherever it is they store you until they need you to kill someone again. And I get to spend my time in my windowless room thinking about the fact that _I_ put you there.”

He held her gaze during her entire speech, jaw slowly tightening and twitching. When she was done he continued to try and stare her down for a a few more heartbeats before looking away. “Then we’re done. There isn’t another way. Not for you and I to do it. With half a dozen trained operatives and a limitless armory, yes, I could find a better way. But it’s just us. We don’t have other leads. No where else to go. It’s this or we’ve failed before we started.”

Jesus, he must be serious about it if he was going to talk that much. She was starting to wish she’d ordered some saki to go with this. Instead, she picked up her tea and sipped it slowly, hoping it would settle her stomach. She refused to look at him, looking out the window at the pedestrians strolling past. Sensing some sort of awkward conversation had just taken place, the waitress swung by with their check and Amanda put her tea down so she could count out bills.

“It’s the only way,” Barnes said quietly.

She still didn’t look at him, focusing on the money. “If they wipe you, you won’t remember me anymore.” And that bothered her far more than it should. After losing so much already, losing him seemed unbearable. They should never had met, should never have become friends or companions or whatever it was they were. It was a hard won bond, based on blood and betrayal and the need for revenge. She couldn’t stand the idea of it being taken away just by walking into a building.

Light fingers touched the back of her hand and she stopped her money counting to look at the spot he touched her. “I’ll remember you,” he said quietly. “I remembered Steve.”

It suddenly seemed hard to breathe, her chest tight and aching. “I’m not Steve,” she managed to get out. Then she dropped the right assortment of bills on the table and got up, leaving the restaurant.

He caught up with her out on the street. If they had been normal people he could have caught her arm so they could resume the conversation. Barnes just fell into step beside her as they hiked towards the Muni stop. 

“I’m not a spy,” she said finally. “I don’t have that training. I don’t know if I can do this without blowing it.”

“You can.” They stopped at the bus stop and now he did step in front of her so they could talk face to face. “You’re strong. You made it three years, planning how to escape. And when there was an opportunity you took it. You can do this. I trust you to do this.”

Amanda shoved her hands into her pockets, hunching her shoulders. “Do you think I can sneak in a weapon?”

He considered a moment. “They might search you. A gun is out. We can probably hide a knife on you.”

It was better than nothing. She was pretty good with a knife. She’d killed the man who scarred her face with a scalpel, a proper hunting knife would be a luxury. She sighed and closed her eyes. There really wasn’t any other way. If there was he wouldn’t be suggesting this one. “All right,” she said quietly. “Let’s do this.”

They spent the rest of the evening in their hotel room, going over the plan as best they could. By its nature it would require them to play more of it by ear. Amanda had spent enough time among the Hydra people that she knew their lingo and processes. Assuming no one recognized her - and she still didn’t think that was an unlikely scenario - she could probably fake her way through this, at least for a little while. Or so she kept telling herself.

She didn’t sleep well that night, laying in bed and listening to Barnes’s soft, slow breathing. She didn’t know if he was actually asleep or just doing his sniper meditation thing. It was oddly comforting, though, knowing he was there.

She didn’t want to take him to that building tomorrow. 

The morning was bright and mild, with a cloudless blue sky. They tossed their bags in the trunk of the Mustang and parked it in a public garage a quarter mile from the Hydra building. Barnes was in his most ill fitting clothes and had purposely eaten lightly in the hopes of looking more haggard.

“I’ll walk behind you,” he said as they locked up the car. “I’m supposed to look compliant. Don’t glance back or check on me. Remember, I’m just an asset.”

She nodded, tucking the keys into her pocket. There was a swiss army knife in the other pocket. Barnes had suggested it as a decoy if they did try to frisk her. No one would question why she had something to protect herself and if they found that hopefully they wouldn’t keep looking and find the butterfly knife tucked in her bra.

Her hands felt clammy and she kept flexing and fisting them as they walked. She didn’t want to do this. The closer they got to the big brick building the louder the thought became and the more her stomach hurt. She couldn’t do this. There was no way she could do this.

_Toughen the fuck up, Newbury._ She hadn’t thought she could hold the family together when her mother died, but she did. She hadn’t thought she could get up off a dirty floor and hike forty miles to the next aid station with her face sliced open but she had. She hadn’t thought she could make it another day held prisoner by terrorists but she had. Barnes wasn’t flinching and he had a hell of a lot more to lose than her. _Life is doing things you don’t think you can. Always has been._

Taking a deep breath, she forced her shoulders down and her chin up. She was Amanda Newsom, Hydra scientist. No conscience. Annoyed at the recent events and probably a little relieved to finally be walking into a functional base. The man behind her wasn’t a person with thoughts and feelings, he was a weapon, an asset. She probably didn’t even know his name.

With that in mind, and her persona in place if not particularly well fleshed out, she strode into the big brick building, Barnes trailing at her heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first thought up this story it did not include a cross-country road trip. It is the best example of the story writing itself with little to no input from me that I've had in recent memory.
> 
> I'm going to start posting an unrelated Bucky/Amanda story starting Sunday as a little Valentines gift to you all :) Stay tuned!


	7. Chapter 7

Amanda was right, this had been a terrible idea.

As soon as they’d stepped into the building they’d caused a commotion. Apparently, he was fairly well known and recognizable by the Hydra up and ups. They were fairly quickly ushered into an office with the head of security, lead scientist and the man in charge of the building. He had on a very sharp suit and was studying Amanda with obvious suspicion. Enough to cause prickles of unease to run down Barnes’s spine.

If she noticed the way Suit was looking at her she was doing an admirable job of hiding it. “Newsom,” she was saying, for the third time. “Amanda Newsom, I was stationed in the Atlanta office, working serum research.”

“Atlanta got raided by SHIELD right after the fall,” the researcher said. “How did you get out?”

“I was on the road, heading to the DC office when the shit hit the fan. I was closer to that than Atlanta so I kept going. Found the Asset wandering around an empty base looking for orders.” She hooked a thumb at him without even looking his way. The others glanced at him and he kept his face blank, looking into a middle distance. 

Amanda continued, “I heard about the break in in Philly and that the Atlanta office was toast. This was the only other major hub I knew the location of so-” She shrugged expansively.

“I went to the Atlanta offices a few times,” Suit said, watching her carefully. “What did you think of working with Hopkins?”

She met his gaze. “I never met a Hopkins in Atlanta,” she said evenly. “I worked with _Harris_ , who couldn’t take a piss without filling out a memo about it.”

Suit smiled a little, though there was no humor in the expression. “That must be what I’m thinking of.” He glanced at the security guard. “Take her to the labs and find her somewhere to work.” Then to the researcher. “We’ll take him and get him ready for transport.”

“Don’t wipe him until I’ve had a chance to run some tests,” Amanda said, with an air of authority Barnes could see the Suit didn’t appreciate.

To prove his dominance, Suit pinned her with a glare. “You can run tests when he’s in cryo.”

She met the glare with her own, looking at the guy like she’d scraped him off her shoe. “He’s never been out of cryo this long. It’s vital to my research to see how it’s effected him. Putting him under will taint any samples I take.”

“Under whose authority are you conducting this research?”

“Alexander Pierce.”

The name sent a chill along his spine, but the Suit scoffed. “He’s dead.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Well, whichever head is taking over for him this week. Is that you?” Suit’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t respond. Amanda gave a nasty smile. “Didn’t think so. I don’t care about politics, I care about science. And I don’t think it’s your place to decide I have to stop my research. Is it?”

“No,” Suit said through grit teeth.

She turned to the researcher. “Do not wipe him until I’ve done my exam. Got it?” He nodded, obviously fully aware of the new alpha in the room. Amanda spared the Suit one more dismissive glance before following the burly security guard out of the room.

He braced for fall out, but the Suit just nodded to the researcher, jaw still clenched. The little man in a white coat hustled Barnes out of the room.  
 She had played that. . . very well. Better than he’d expected her to. So good he found himself doubting it had been an act. 

He sucked in a breath, which fortunately his guide didn’t notice. He couldn’t start thinking like that. He trusted her. She was just about the only thing in the world he was really sure of. If he started doubting her he might as well let them put him back in cryo, because there was nothing left for him.

The little man brought him to a room that was far too familiar. The usual bank of monitors and machines flanking a padded bench. A halo of black plastic and electronics formed half circles at one end. His heart beat sped up just looking at it and it took everything he hand not to falter in his step.

He was supposed to sit. The Soldier, the Asset would sit without a word. He was compliant, he behaved. He needed to play along, give Amanda time to get the information they needed. It was important.

He sat, slowly, focusing on his breathing. The man in the white coat told him to take his shirt off and then attached monitors to his bare skin. Barnes stared straight ahead, trying to detach. Slowly all the machines and monitors came on, whirring and beeping at odd intervals. More people in white coats came and went, checking things and setting them up. None of them were Amanda.

Someone sat down and started to work on his metal arm. Barnes tried to pay attention to that. He had no idea how to fix it if it broke or was electrocuted, no idea what tools to even look for. In none of his lives had he ever been good with electrics. He did think he’d been okay with machines, so he watched what the tech did and tried to commit it to memory. When they got out of here he’d make an attempt to tinker with it if he could. Better to learn when it wasn’t an emergency.

They were going to get out of here. Amanda would find what they needed and come for him. He had to keep thinking it, reminding himself of it. He was not the Soldier. He was James Barnes. He was not alone. Amanda was coming for him. He was not going to forget.

Time passed. People came and went. Sometimes it seemed like he was seeing other rooms, past rooms. When that happened he focused on what was being done to him. This was not the time to get lost in his unreliable memories. He had to be awake and ready when she came.

The men and women that worked on him talked as if he wasn’t there. That had always happened, he realized. After a few weeks in the real world he had begun to wonder where Hydra found these people. Were there really so many people in the world willing to use a man as a weapon? Was it the metal arm, or the fact he was some sort of legend? Was the promise of the better world Hydra claimed to want so appealing? Or was it something that happened slowly, having your conscience and humanity slowly chipped away. Until you believed whatever you were told, no matter how much it would have horrified the old you.

Slowly the people around him thinned out, until it was just one tech - maybe the one that had brought him here, he could no longer tell them apart - monitoring his machines and muttering about wanting to go home. 

It was evening, after sunset, and Amanda hadn’t come. They must have found her out. Must have caught her trying to download files and put them in that windowless room she’d talked about. She’d have come for him otherwise. The thoughts made his heartbeat speed up on the monitors, making the tech glance up. Barnes took a deep breath through his nose and tried to calm himself. Everything was fine. She wasn’t a spy. He had to give her time.

He had almost convinced himself that she was about to walk in the room when someone else walked in the room.

The Suit stopped directly in front of him and Barnes had to focus on his breathing again. He was younger and slimier than Pierce had been. But that sense of authority and entitlement was there. This was a man that thought he was better than other people. And was more than happy to hurt them to get what he needed.

“Wipe him,” the Suit said, not looking away from Barnes. “Get him in cryo.”

The tech looked pale. “But Dr. Newsom-”

“That scarred bitch is not in charge here, I am.” He looked at the tech now. “She can read the results of what you’ve done and like it. Wipe. Him.”

Blood roared in Barnes ears. Before he could react, bands had wrapped around his arms and the padded back of the chair he was on started to tilt. 

He fought. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he couldn’t help it. The tech started to come over, bite guard in his hand, and Barnes kicked out at him.The tech turned to hit a button and the bands tightened. Electricity arced through him and he spasmed, teeth clenching together painfully. He was fully horizontal now, the clamps coming towards his face. The electricity arced again and he couldn’t make his muscles listen to him. Couldn’t fight.

 Pain wracked him, making it impossible to think, impossible to remember. He _needed_ to remember. He was James Barnes. He was not the Soldier, he was not a weapon. He was more than that. He liked coffee and bright red lipstick and driving too fast. He was James Barnes and he had to remember.

There was a sound, through the pain. A shout, a voice. He knew that voice. He remembered that voice. It was arguing, angry and another voice was arguing back. The pain drowned out the words, but not the sound that came next. The unmistakable gurgle of someone choking on their own blood.

It was followed a moment later by a meaty thunk and then the pain ebbed and died out entirely.

He took a deep, shuddery breath, tasting blood. The clamps moved away from him, bands loosening on his arms. The seat began to tilt him up again just as hands touched his. They were sticky and wet, but the voice that spoke to him was familiar.

“James,” Amanda said. “I’m sorry. I came as quick- I’m so sorry.” He focused on her face, found her pale and wide-eyed. “You with me, James?”

He let out another shaky breath and managed to mumble, “‘Manda?”

Her whole body sagged in relief. “Yeah, yeah it’s me. I’m sorry. Just sit a minute.” Her hands touched his chest, then moved away. He looked down to see she’d left bloody handprints on his skin.

“What-?” Was she injured? She wasn’t acting like she was in pain. The idea of her being hurt caused a flare of anger in him, burning away some of the cobwebs in his head.

She had acquired a white coat somewhere along the way and was now shrugging out of it, using it to wipe off her hands and the stains she’d left on his skin. “It’s not mine. It’s okay. Let me get you out of this.” She bent to fiddle with the cuff on his right arm that hadn’t released yet.

For a moment, the room seemed to fade and he was somewhere else, on a different table, with different machines. It wasn’t Amanda saving him, but Steve in a leather jacket and ill fitting helmet. He’d been even happier to see him, and far less certain he’d come.

_I thought you were smaller._

The metal cuff came free and he flexed his arm, rubbing his hand over his face. “Did it hurt?” he mumbled, still half lost in the memory. He wasn’t even aware he’d said it out loud until Amanda started talking.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I couldn’t get away, they had a guard following me so I had to pretend I was working and cooperating. It just kept getting later and I couldn’t get away, couldn’t even get anyone to tell me where you were. I finally managed to slip the guard and come looking, but this place is huge and it’s not set up like any other base I’ve ever been at. Then the lights dimmed and I knew, I knew-”

She was babbling. Upset and probably riding a cocktail of fear and relief strong enough to override her normal calm. He had the sudden, insane urge to kiss her in an effort to cut off the flow of words. That would probably just cause more babbling when he was done. Instead, he cupped a hand behind her neck and drew her closer, resting his forehead on hers. 

The flow of her words stopped and for a few moments she just breathed with him. She was still trembling a little, but when she spoke again she sounded calm. “Okay. We need to go.” She moved to lift her head and he let her go. “Can you walk?” He nodded and she stepped away to grab his shirt from there where the tech had tossed it.

Said tech was on the floor, with the blue handle of Amanda’s utility knife sticking out of his lower back. A few feet away, near the door, was the Suit, very clearly dead, with a wound in his neck. That would explain the blood on her hands.

She held his shirt out and he yanked it on over his head. “Did you get what we need?”

“I downloaded every file I could find with your name or aliases on it. Took every flash drive I brought but I got it all.” 

He never should have doubted her. “Weapons?”

She shook her head. “Just what I brought. I did find some petty cash that needed liberation.”

A gun would have made him feel better about their exit, but there was no sense in trying to hunt one down. He did bend and retrieve the pocket knife from the tech’s back. “You missed the heart,” he said casually. 

“I hit the kidney,” she retorted. “Which is what I was aiming for.”

Later, he was going to request an anatomy lesson from his surprising doctor. For now, he cleaned the knife off on the tech’s coat and followed her out the door into the hallway. “Where are we in the building?”

“Basement,” she said, turning left. “But a proper one, not a spooky, secret sub basement. It’s after five, so the building’s almost empty, but there’s still security lurking. Fortunately, I think this used to be some sort of warehouse or factory.” She lead him down another passage and shoved up an old wooden door at the end, revealing an alleyway. “So it has a back entrance, probably for trash.”

A few steps later and they were on the busy San Francisco sidewalk. He could almost pretend the chair and the pain had never happened. He took a deep breath of the brisk air and together they headed up the street, towards the garage they’d left the car in.


	8. Chapter 8

_She was running, or trying to run, down a grey walled hallway with flickering lights. But the floor was no longer industrial tile. Or maybe it was. But it seemed to drag at her feet, sucking her down like tar. She fell and tried to crawl, but it sucked her down._

_Then she wasn’t in the hallway anymore but a huge, cavernous room with a single light at the very end. It was shining on something that looked like a coffin or sarcophagus. The front of the box was glass and there was someone inside. She didn’t want to get closer, didn’t want to see who was in the box. But she found herself moving forward anyway, without ever moving her feet._

_She recognized the figure in the box before she reached it. Of course, who else would it be? She knew him well by now. The curve of his cheek, the line of his jaw. The divot in the center of his chin. She’d been too late. Barnes was gone; wiped and on ice._

_Her fingers clawed at the front of the cryo tube, the metal bitingly, painfully cold. There were no latches or handles to open, no way to get him out. Still, she dug at it, until her nails broke and her fingers bled._

Amanda opened her eyes to stark sunlight and the sound of the ocean pouring through the open window.

After leaving the base, they had climbed into the Mustang, decided it was in their best interest to get the hell out of the city, and headed south on 1 in late rush hour traffic, before ending up somewhere called Half Moon Bay, at a hotel calling itself an inn that actually lived up to the name. Their room had a balcony with an ocean view and a functioning fireplace. The bed she was laying on was the most comfortable thing she’d slept on in years. She hadn’t paid attention to or cared about the price, not last night and not now, though the woman behind the desk had given her a strange look when she’d requested double beds.

She sat up slowly, details of the dream fading while the grief and fear lingered. She closed her eyes and saw his frozen face behind her lids and opened them immediately. It was fine. She’d gotten there in time, gotten him out of the machine before it could do any damage.

Barnes had been. . . odd since they’d left the base. He’d spent the drive south swinging from the detached blankness she hadn’t seen since the first few days after the Trisk fell and almost animated chatting. Maybe it was her own perceptions, trying to process the fact they’d actually gotten out safe and alive. She still wasn’t entirely sure it was true. Maybe they’d been followed. Maybe Hydra was just biding their time, waiting to see if she and Barnes would lead them to more allies. It couldn’t have been that simple.

Simple. She’d killed two men. Up close and personal, with a knife. Hadn’t hesitated. They were hurting Barnes, standing between her and him, so they’d gone down. She’d do it again, in a heartbeat, but the idea still clenched her stomach and made her heart pound.

_Breathe_. Covering her face with her hands she tried to breathe in time with the roar of the ocean. Yesterday had been hell, it was perfectly normal to have a reaction to that. Just ride it out.

When her blood had stopped roaring in her ears she uncovered her face and lifted her head. A glance over her shoulder revealed Barnes’s bed to be empty. She tried not to let that worry her, but the panic attack was still too close to the surface. Getting up, she checked the bathroom to find it empty as well. A scan of all the flat surfaces in the room revealed no note and the car keys right where she’d left them.

The dream still had its claws sunk into her psyche, and she fought against the panicked, irrational thoughts that came to her. He was almost certainly fine, gone for a walk or to get food or something. She’d slept a long time, it was almost mid morning. He ate like a horse, he would have needed a proper meal.

But those perfectly rational thoughts didn’t erase the image she had of him strapped to the table, arching in pain. She should never have gone in there with him, never have agreed to the plan, no matter how desperate he sounded. It could have gone so, so wrong. It almost did. She would never have forgiven herself.

She was pondering how futile it would be to try to go look for him in an unfamiliar town in which she had no idea where he had gone, when the door rattled and swung open. Barnes stepped inside, a white bag dangling from his metal hand. He noticed her standing there in the middle of the room, and his eyebrows went up in surprise, or possibly concern.

Relief flooded her and before she could think about it she crossed the room and threw her arms around him. He froze and the relief was replaced by embarrassment. She started to step away, an apology on her tongue, when he wrapped his right arm around her, crushing her against his chest.

He felt really good. Warm and solid and stable. As stable as anything else in the world right then. She pressed her face into his shoulder, tangling her fingers in the loose fabric of his shirt. There was a little thump as he dropped the bag he’d brought in and carefully curled his metal arm around her as well. “All right?” he asked softly, right beside her ear.

She nodded, still feeling a little silly, but enjoying the embrace far too much to step away. “I’m sorry. I had a nightmare and when I woke up you weren’t here. . . “

His arms tightened a little. “You were worried?” He turned his head a little as he asked it, mouth brushing against her skin as he spoke. The contact made her shiver hard enough she was sure he felt it.

_If I look at him, he’ll kiss me._ The thought came to her suddenly and she was completely certain it was true, despite the fact he had never made any sort of indication he wanted to kiss her before. The fingers of his right hand were moving slowly up and down, rubbing her where they rested on her back. On the up stroke the touched the bare skin revealed by the tank top she’d worn to bed. The rough scrape of callused fingers sent her thoughts scattering. There were reasons this was a bad idea. There were reasons they shouldn’t cross the line she’d just realized they were standing on. But at this particular moment, she couldn’t think of a goddamned one.

She leaned back and looked at him. He met her gaze, and she wondered why she’d never noticed how very blue his eyes were. Then his lids drooped, his mouth curled up and he leaned in to kiss her. It was rough and intense. She hadn’t expected heat, or skill. Who on Earth had taught the Winter Soldier how to kiss?

Amanda groaned, sinking a hand into his hair, holding him to her. His tongue swept along her lower lip, before he sucked it into his mouth. She shuddered, pressing against him. His metal hand had slid down, cupping her ass. The fingers tightened, sinking into the muscle as he tugged her firmer against him. She could feel the hard length of his cock trapped behind the soft denim of his jeans. Very deliberately, she rubbed against it and the noise he made could only be called a growl.

He walked her backwards, half carrying her at times. She thought perhaps he was headed for one of the beds, but she felt the wall hit her back first. With her trapped between him and the wall, he thrust one thigh betweens hers, supporting her so he could use his hands to fight with his fly. She arched, grinding her now very sensitive sex against him, seam of her sweatpants grazing her clit.

With another growl he turned his attention back to her, fly hanging open loosely. He kissed her mouth again, then moved to trail hot, opened mouthed kisses down her throat. He nipped at her pulse point, sucking hard enough she knew she’d bruise. The prickle of pain only made the heat growing in her ratchet higher.

Apparently at the end of his patience, he gripped the waistband of her sweatpants and yanked. Fabric tore and he shoved them down, moving his thigh so the shredded cotton could fall to the floor. She really didn’t have words to express how sexy she found that.

His hand curled under her thigh and tugged it up over his hip. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her, sliding against her sex. She wasn’t entirely sure if he lifted or she hopped, but somehow her other leg was wrapped around him. He braced her against the wall, metal hand firmly under her ass to support her, and hitched her into the right position to thrust into her, just on the edge of too rough.

For a moment, he stayed completely still, forehead pressed to the wall above her shoulder, breathing roughly. She lifted a hand and stroked his hair gently, hoping to soothe him, reassure him. He lifted his head and kissed her like he might eat her alive and began to move. It was fast and rough and almost too intense. She kissed him with all she had, hanging on tightly as he thrust into her. Pleasure had just begun to build when his pace increased, hips pistoning, and he froze, burying himself as deep inside as he could. She felt the heat of his release even as he began to slump against her and the wall.

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, trying to tamp down the curl of disappointment at her thwarted orgasm. Up till that, it had been quiet hot and enjoyable. Not bad for two people with a combined dry spell of over three quarters of a century. She’d certainly had _worse_ sex. And she had never had a lover hold her up against a wall throughout the entire endeavor. 

Currently, however, he was no longer holding her up, having sunk down to his knees and holding her in his lap. She kissed his shoulder again, then his cheek, easing away from him. He was still entirely dressed, and while her pants were a write off, her shirt and glasses weren’t even askew. It had been a very, _very_ long time since she’d had a half dressed, conversation free quickie in the middle of the day.

James - he’d just fucked her against a wall, he was going to first name basis - cleared his throat awkwardly and fixed his fly. “I, uh, brought bagels.”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Thank you.” Disentangling herself from him and the remnants of her pants she went to her suitcase to dig out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, which she stepped into, wincing a little. Fortunately, James didn’t notice or they would have added futile guilt to the morning after awkward. Nothing some Motrin wouldn’t fix.

When she turned back, he’d stood as well, jeans now set to rights and had retrieved the white bag from the floor. He glanced up at her when she joined him and offered her a hesitant half smile. And, despite her sore muscles and the disappointed little ache deep in her abdomen, she returned it. He turned back to the bag, unpacking it and she stifled a sigh. This was going to be a long, awkward day.

*

James was starting to remember things.

After a month of struggling to put together any semblance of coherent memory he was now getting huge chunks, clear and concrete. He remembered Steve, pre-serum and young, with a split lip and a black eye, insisting that no, he absolutely could not ignore the kid who’d been cheating at marbles and playing for keepsies. He remembered Steve, older but still small and coughing hard enough to shake his frame, swearing he was fine and needed to go into work or they weren’t going to make rent today. Both memories were tinted with worry and exasperation and an odd affection for the little punk who didn’t know how to back down from a fight an never would.

There were other memories of Steve, startling in their clarity. The warmth of his body curled into his, the soft flutter of his breath against his skin as they shared a bed. The emotions tangled up with those memories were richer and more complicated. Too intense for him to unpack right now.

He could remember his mother, a round faced Irish woman with ruddy brown hair and a wide smile. She’d ruled the house from her warm, welcoming kitchen, wielding a wooden spoon and a voice that could echo across the neighborhood. But she’d always had a shoulder to cry on, a cold cloth for his and Steve’s many bumps and bruises, and an extra nickel here and there for a candy at the five and dime.

He remembered going to war, his platoon, being captured. The torture and experiments that had been a preview of the things to come. Then Steve finding him and the desperate desire to fucking go home warring with the inability to leave Steve when there was work to be done, even with the dynamics of their relationship turned on their head. And so he’d stayed, and found friendship and camaraderie with the Commandos, almost despite himself.

There was a whole life in his head now, the life he’d led before the bridge and the arm and the Soldier. There were gaps, true, but no more than anyone else did, he suspected. All in all, it was pretty good recall for a guy in his nineties.

His only theory was that it had something to do with the aborted memory wipe. It had stimulated memory rather than repress it. It was only a theory, and admittedly not an educated one. He hadn’t told Amanda about it, though he suspected she’d noticed his changes in mood. He’d certainly noticed the changes in hers.

That wasn’t fair. She’d been perfectly pleasant. After the . . . incident the previous morning they agreed to stay put for a few days to go over the files she’d downloaded and regroup. Once that was settled she’d made an excuse about exploring town and had disappeared until dinner time. Any thing he might have thought to say seemed irrelevant by then, so he let it drop and they’d gone to sleep in their separate beds, much as he would have liked to wrap himself around her warmth.

This morning had been more of the same and after lunch it was his turn to make excuses and announce he was going for a walk on the beach. He’s sworn he heard her mutter something about trying out some of the bath products she’d bought the the day before. So now he was out here in the wind and damp and fog and she was probably laying in the rather impressive old fashioned tub in their bathroom, covered in bubbles.

Naked Amanda was probably not an image he should be exploring while in public.

Among his memories were women, as well, of all shapes and sizes. Blondes, brunettes and the odd redhead - he’d grown up in an Irish neighborhood, after all. He didn’t remember a whole lot of names, which, admittedly, made him feel a bit like an ass. But his memories of them were fond and affectionate and he didn’t remember any big fights or tearful breakups. Most of them hadn’t gone much past kissing and maybe a little under-the-blouse groping. But he had definitely not gone to war a virgin. There was one particular redhead that must have been in a burlesque of some sort because he had some _very_ clear mental images of her in feathers and not much else. She’d been. . . acrobatic.

_Still in public, Barnes._

Said memories had actually cleared up more since the incident against the wall yesterday - thank you touch memory - and as much fun as they were to sort out, they weren’t helping the awkward with Amanda any at all.

It wasn’t like her, or at least what he knew of her. If something was wrong surely she’d speak up. She’d seemed very willing and eager, kissing him back and wrapping herself around him when he held her up. Nothing he’d seen in the month he’d known her indicated she wouldn’t have told him to stop if she wanted to. Yes, all right, he could have had more finesse and checked in. The old him would have; he’d never pushed farther than a girl wanted to go. But once he’d kissed her he’d been running on gut instinct and need. And everything she’d done had indicated she was right there with him. Nothing relieved stress and tension like sex and God knew they needed a little pleasure to off set the hell that had come before.

His steps slowed. Pleasure. Why did that set off alarm bells? The girls in his memories all seemed quite happy. He had the distinct impression he’d taken pride in his lovemaking, making sure he didn’t leave anyone disappointed.

_Oh. Shit._

Details were hazy, but he was suddenly quite sure _disappointed_ was exactly the right word for how he’d left Amanda. There’d been no shuddering, no clench of muscles. Nothing resembling foreplay. And after seventy odd years of abstinence he’d hardly been at his best.

He turned on his heel and started marching back to the hotel. Of course she hadn’t said anything. That was an awkward conversation in the best of times. But she had no idea he had memories of what sex should be like. And he was sure he’d looked quite pleased with himself. If Steve or the guys were around they’d never have let him hear the end of this.

The thoughts stopped him in his tracks a moment. It was the first time he’d thought of them like that. Steve and the guys. His friends. He shook his head sharply. He’d deal with that later, after he’d sorted this out. He’d tell Amanda his memories were coming back and talk over all the tangled up and confusing emotions he was sorting through. She had a way of breaking problems down into manageable chunks.

For now, he had his honor to defend.


	9. Chapter 9

James took the stairs up to their room two at a time, ignoring the started look from the housekeeper he passed. If he was very, very lucky Amanda would still be in the tub and they could make a mess of that bathroom. He opened the door and stepping into the room to find her standing by the end of her bed, wrapped in a towel and nothing else.

Well, that was almost better, really.

She jumped a little and he pushed the door shut behind him. “What-”

“I did it wrong,” he said, stalking towards her slowly. “Yesterday.” He gestured at the wall behind her. “I did it wrong.”

Her mouth opened and closed a couple times and she actually took a step back as he approached her. “You didn’t - I mean, that’s pretty much how it goes. Tab A into slot B.”

He backed her all the way up to the wall, almost exactly where they’d been the day before. Very deliberately, he braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her. “You didn’t get off.”

If you’d told him a week ago that he could reduce his tough, hard as nails doctor to blushing and stammering with just four little words he never would have believed it. “I didn’t - I mean it’s - we - you haven’t-”

He took pity on her and interrupted her. “I’d like to make it up to you.”

Her “Oh?” was very close to a squeak.

Something they’d done to him had cranked his senses up higher than a normal humans. He already knew he could see much, much farther than other people. This was the first time he’d noticed his sense of smell was stronger as well. Up this close, he could smell her quite clearly. Whatever bubble bath she’d used had been floral scented. Bright, summer smells of jasmine and orchid and roses. But underneath that, was _her_ scent, which he’d come to know rather well over the last month. And right now, it was deeper and richer, like it had been the day before when he’d kissed her.

He looked down the length of her, all the warm, damp skin that was exposed and those tantalizing bits covered by the towel. Looking back at her face, he asked softly, “Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” she whispered, immediately, with no hesitation.

If she’d hesitated he would have backed off. He didn’t want to scare her, or hurt her. He leaned a little closer to her. “Can I touch you?” She swallowed, hard, then nodded.

Lifting his right hand off the wall, he ran one finger along the top edge of the towel. She was holding it closed with one white knuckled hand. When he reached that hand he let his finger trail over it, as well, then up her arm. She shuddered, goosebumps raising on her arm. _Slow_ , he reminded himself, leaning closer again. His finger reached her throat and glided up, tucking under her chin to tip her mouth up to meet his kiss.

Where yesterday’s kisses had been frantic and rough, today he kept to his vow to be slow, taking his time. He tasted her thoroughly, sliding his hand behind her head to tangle in her hair. She moaned into his mouth and he felt her go soft as she relaxed into the kiss. Stepping closer, he pressed his body along the length of hers.

Releasing her towel, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, sinking into his kiss. The towel slithered down her body, puddling at their feet. He ignored it for now, breaking the kiss only to tilt his head and take her mouth at a different angle. Much as he wanted to lean away and look at her, he settled for stroking his fingers through her hair and then flattening his hand on her back. Her skin was as soft and warm as he remembered, still damp from her shower.

The touch made her moan again, and he immediately decided he liked that noise and was going to try to make her make it as often as possible. Shifting his feet, he pulled his metal hand off the wall and hesitantly curled it around her hip. She shivered, fingers flexing on his back. “Okay?” he murmured, lifting his mouth only enough to speak.

She nodded. “Very okay.”

The eagerness in her tone made him smile. “More?”

Her fingers flexed again. “God, yes.”

Kissing her lightly, he leaned back, hands cupping her hips, so he could look at her. She was pale, almost as pale as him, long limbed and softly curved. As he watched, her chest flushed pink and her nipples tightened, as if in anticipation for his touch. There was a tattoo on her left hip and he shifted his hand so he could see it unobstructed. A staff with a snake wrapped around it ran from just below her waist and over the hipbone. Curved under it were words written in block print. “On breach thereof, may the reverse be my fate,” he read aloud, tracing his thumb over the ink.

“It’s part of the Hippocratic oath,” she said, looking down at his hand on her skin. “That doctors take.”

That was very like her. Not enough to just promise to do no harm, she had to tattoo it on her skin. Make it a part of her, so she could never turn her back on it. He had intended to spend some very enjoyable time paying attention to her breasts, but he found he couldn’t resist sinking to his knees and kissing the tattoo.

He heard her breath hitch and her legs trembled a little. He ran his tongue up the length of the staff, pressing a kiss to the soft curve of her belly. Casting his gaze upwards, he found her watching him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open as she tried to catch her breath. He trailed his hands down her legs, then back up, pressing a firmer kiss to her stomach. Then again, lower. And again.

Nudging her legs into a wider stance, he had to break eye contact as he dipped his head and press his mouth to her sex.

“ _James_.” Her legs wobbled a little and he shifted his hands, cupping her ass firmly to help hold her up. She was already wet, about as much as she’d been the day before. He nuzzled at her, licking along the length of her folds. She moaned, so he did it again, then again, slowly narrowing in on the hard nub of her clit. 

Her fingers sunk into his hair and he felt her shift, knees tucking into the hollows of his shoulders as she braced her back on the wall. He sucked lightly on her clit, then harder as it made her hips buck. 

He licked and sucked as she grew wetter and hotter. Until the only sounds she seemed capable of were moans and whimpers that might have been his name. Then he felt her rock against him and he tightened his fingers on the flesh of her rear, holding her up as she started to shake, coming against his mouth.

Releasing her, he stood, catching her when her legs gave out. He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest as she rode out the last of it. Considering the things he was normally lifting, she felt as light as air. And he greatly enjoyed how she wrapped her arms around his neck and curled closer to him.

It only took a few steps to reach his bed and set her down, stretching out next to her. She reached up and drew him down for a kiss, which he happily sunk into, cupping her face in his hands. Her hands tugged at his shirt, sliding underneath to touch his back, his stomach. For a moment he hesitated, then reminded himself that for better or worse she’d seen him shirtless before, and leaned back to yank his shirt off.

Her grin was extremely flattering, As the was the eager way she propped herself up to kiss him again. Her hands roamed him blatantly and he returned the favor, stroking and cupping her breasts, earning another little moan. Releasing her mouth, he ducked his head and kissed one nipple, then the other, before sucking it into his mouth. She arched, pressing herself closer to him, cupping the back of his head. When he nipped lightly, she made a noise that was almost a growl and her nails raked his scalp. He gave another hard pull before moving to the other breast and sliding his right hand down her stomach.

His fingers glided easily through her slick folds, then sunk into her heat. Her hips lifted as if to draw him deeper. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “James, you don’t-”

He nipped at her breast again to stop her, then lifted his head. “That one was to make up for yesterday.” Stretching up, he kissed her, pressing with the heel of his palm so he tugged at her clit as his fingers moved. “This is for tonight.”

“God,” she whispered. “Ah, God, James.” Her head tipped back and he kissed her throat before leaning back to watch her. She was beautiful, nipples dark and swollen, skin flushed, the damp of her bath replaced by a sheen of sweat. Her hips rocked with the motion of his hand.

He could tell she was close, primed as she was from her first climax. But he obviously wasn’t hitting quite the right spot. Turning his hand, he added another finger, but moved his palm away from her. She opened her eyes and looked at him and he caught her gaze. “Show me,” he told her. Ordered her.

Her eyes widened a little and she caught her lower lip in her teeth. But she moved a hand down to join his. Two fingers framed her clit and start to stroke, a little firmer and slower than he’d used. Her breath stuttered at the touch and he smiled, stroking her harder to match her rhythm. In less than a minute she was gasping, fingers quickening. He felt her start to clench around his fingers and drove them deep, pressing against her so he could feel every pulse and spasm.

She went limp on the bed, chest heaving. She moaned softly when he slid his fingers out of her. He was so hard it hurt and he shifted to untie and kick off his boots before fighting with his fly. He was remarkably uncoordinated and seriously considering just shredding them the way he had her sweat pants when her hands brushed his out of the way and deftly unbuttoned his fly.

Shoving his jeans down, he half stood, turning back to her on the bed. She murmured his name, reaching up for him, meeting his kiss as he loomed above her. “Need you,” she mumbled, hooking a leg over his hip. “Please.” 

Well, who was he to resist that. He shifted her, cupping her thigh to hitch her leg higher before sinking into her. She felt, impossibly, better than she had the day before. Wet and hot and tight from her climax. Just like the first time, he had to take a moment to breathe, reveling in the feel of her closing around him.

Propping himself on his forearms, he lifted his head to look down at her and began to rock his hips, starting slow so he could savor every moment. Amanda smiled brilliantly at him and lifted her hand to stroke his chest and arms. He dipped his head, kissing her lightly. It took a few moments to find the right rhythm. He wasn’t sure if she had another orgasm in her, but he wanted to make sure she enjoyed the time it took to find his.

It was a short, intense climb. He tried to keep it slow, to not get too rough. But as pleasure grew hot and heavy in his belly he couldn’t help but thrust a little deeper, hold her a little tighter. He guessed from her moans and gasps and the way she clutched at him she didn’t seem to mind. And when he did finally let go, sinking deep into her as his climax rushed through him, he swore he felt the answering clench and shudder from her.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he lay there, face buried in the crook of her neck as he caught his breath. She held him tightly, hands stroking lightly along his spine. Finally, he mustered enough energy to roll off of her, sprawling on his back and wrapping an arm around her when she turned towards him.

They lay in silence, breath calming. When his heart had stopped pounding and he’d begun to notice the slight chill in the air, Amanda lifted her head and said, “So. You seem a little different.”

Chuckling a little, he lifted a hand and wound a lock of her damp hair around his finger. “I remember.”

She stared at him. “Remember what?”

“Everything.” Her jaw dropped and he corrected himself, “Well, most of it. Stuff actually gets fuzzier the closer to the War I get. But I remember being a kid, growing up with Steve. I remember being James Barnes.”

She shook her head slowly, looking utterly stunned. “When did this start?”

“The other day, after the failed wipe. I thought it might have something to do with it, but didn’t really know how to ask you. . .”

Folding her hands on his chest, she rested her chin on it and frowned. “I don’t know how the wipe machined functioned, at least not on a biological level. Neurology is not my specialty. It obviously focused on short-term memory, which is why you recognized Steve and why your older memories are clearer. Long-term memory is stored differently than short. It probably prevents the neural pathways from forming, cutting the memory off from becoming permanent. None of which explains why stopping it halfway through would make the other memories come through.”

He had no idea why he found the distracted, almost professorial tone she was using arousing. There was not, as far as he could tell, any teachers or scientists among the women in his memory. Still, it sent the hand he had on her back wandering. “Maybe it was magic.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “No.” She clicked her tongue, obviously distracted, and he let his hand move farther down. He didn’t think she was even talking to him when she muttered, “Maybe it was simply the trauma-” She broke off as he cupped one globe of her ass and gave it an inquisitive squeeze. “James!”

He grinned. “I like when you call me that.” He kissed her, hauling her up against his body. “Let’s see how loud I can get you to say it.”

*

Spring break of her senior year of college Amanda had gone to Hilton Head Island with her roommate and a bunch of friends. She hadn’t had a boy friend at the time, but her roommate’s guy had invited a couple of his friends, one of which she’d hit it off with. It had rained three of the six days they were there. Those with partners had used the poor weather as an excuse to not leave their rooms. The guy she’d hit it off with had been cool with some no strings attached fun and they’d found all manner of ways to entertain themselves in the dorky bunk beds they’d been assigned to sleep in.

That was the last time she had spent several days in bed with a man. Until now.

All in all, she rather preferred this time. The guy in Hilton Head had had flexibility, but James had just about everything else. Strength, stamina, enthusiasm. Imagination. And a rebound time that would put a teenager to shame.

They ordered room service and left the empty plates outside the door. Occasionally, they would toss on clothes and walk down to the beach or sit on the balcony. They talked more in three days then they had in the month before. He told her stories about his childhood, growing up middle class in Brooklyn during the Depression. He even managed to coax a few of her stories out of her, about her sisters and father and even some blackly humorous tales of medical school. 

It felt almost like they’d crammed a relationship into a long weekend. There had been emotion there before. They’d been depending on each other for a log time. And she’d been far more concerned for his safety and sanity while at Hydra than she had for hers. She didn’t know if it was the new physical connection, or the emergence of his memories and personality. But by the third day she felt as if she’d known him for years rather than weeks.

They were in bed, his big warm body curled around hers, as she drifted just on the edge of sleep. She could feel the fingers of his metal hand tracing light little patterns on her back. He wasn’t wandering anywhere particularly erogenous so she was able to more or less ignore it. It was almost soothing.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured into her hair.

“If it’s about another round then you need to think about ordering up some porn and talking to your own hand.”

His laugh rumbled against her and he nuzzled her hair. “No, no. I was thinking that we should look at the files. The flash drives.”

Lifting her head, she rolled a little to look at him. “Are you sure?”

“I can’t hide here forever,” he said, though his tone indicated he really, really wanted to. “Getting my memories back hasn’t changed my mind about tracking down the people who did this to me. If anything, knowing who I was makes me even angrier. I know exactly what they took from me now.”

It hadn’t actually occurred to her that he might have changed his mind. Nor did she have any intention of talking him out of it. But it had been a rather eventful few days and she’d assumed he needed more time to process everything before moving to the next step.

“Do you want to do it now?” she asked.

He pressed his mouth against her shoulder, taking in a deep breath of her scent. “No time like the present.”

She grabbed their laptop and he dug out the half dozen flash drives she had stashed in the dresser. He seemed content to let her drive for now, so she plugging in the first one and started opening files while he sat next to her, chin on her shoulder, reading along with her.

There was a lot of information. Some was mission details. Who he’d killed and where and when and why Hydra had found the victim threatening. There was descriptions of the various treatments they’d used on James to keep him pliant and obedient. She wasn’t sure how much of it he understood but she followed enough the want to kill these people solely on his behalf, let alone the things they had done to her.

He seemed determined to get through all of it tonight, despite the fact it had been well after midnight when they began. Amanda could slog through dry reports and files with the best of them, but she drifted off in the middle of the third batch and woke several hours later to sunshine and bird song.

James had covered the other bed with papers and a what looked like an atlas. So apparently she’d slept through a lot.

Bracing herself up on an elbow, she waited for him to glance over before asking, “Do you have a plan?”

“We need to get to Russia.”

This was probably not a conversation she wanted to have on an empty stomach and no caffeine. Still, she sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t think the car is seaworthy.”

He snorted a laugh. “Yeah. I’m going to need to arrange alternate transportation.”

“What’s in Russia?”

“A series of labs.” He slid carefully off the bed to join her, bringing a fistful of papers with him. Handing them to her, he explained, “Most of Hydra’s covert projects were headquartered in Russia and some former Soviet nations. I guess it was easier to hide there. There’s two warehouses in Russia and one each in Belarus and Azerbaijn that are listed as storage facilities. According to the files I spent most of my time on ice in one of those four warehouses.”

She flicked through the notes he’d given her, then reached down and scooped the laptop up off the floor to go through some of the files there. “There’s probably some other awful stuff there that should be dealt with as well.”

He nodded, watching her. “I can’t ask you to come. It’s going to be dangerous, and kind of miserable and there’ll be a lot of killing.”

There was almost certainly going to be a lot of killing. She didn’t know how he planned to get them to Russia, but she doubted it was going to be pleasant or fast. But the idea of sending him off on his own made her stomach sink and her heart pound. Not to mention she had no idea what she’d do with herself. As far as the rest of the world was concerned she was dead. She couldn’t be a doctor, not without her history and license. And while she generally wasn’t one to let a guy rule her life, these weeks with James had meant a great deal to her. Even if she had somewhere else to go, she might have wanted to stay at his side.

She closed the lap top and turned to look at him. “I guess you should start teaching me how to be a badass.”

He grinned and she was relieved he didn’t try to talk her out of it. “You’re already kind of badass. But I will teach you how to _kick_ ass.”

After breakfast from the bagel place, he took the car and went to see about getting them a way across the Pacific. Amanda went back to the files and his notes and did some more digging and organizing, so they had some specific names to go with their places. Some were almost certainly dead already - the files went back the whole seventy years - but some were more recent and a percentage of those would have escaped SHIELD’s fall and would still be working. And if they were lucky, some of them would be working at the locations they were headed to.

James arrived just as the sun was starting to dip, with clam chowder and crab legs for dinner. He skimmed her hit list with interest, dipping sourdough bread into his soup. “I found a freighter that will take us to Russia, be it will stop a couple times on the way. They leave at four in the morning, so we should pack up and try to nap.”

“Freighter as is a boat?”

He nodded. “We’ll get a room in the hold. One of the crew bunks. There’ll have food in the galley we can share in as well. All for a lump sum. And they’ll help us dodge customs when we get there.”

Well, she’d expected slow and uncomfortable. Such was the life of fugitive vigilantes. “Let’s hope you don’t get sea sick.”

He made a face at her, mouth full of crab leg. When he’d finished chewing, he sucked butter off his thumb and said, “There’s one more thing I want to talk about.”

That was serious relationship discussion voice. It had been a long time since Amanda had heard that tone, but something were unforgettable. She put down the hunk of bread she was about to eat. “What is it?”

“The serum you brought from DC.” He pointed over at their bags. “I don’t think we need it. I’m fine. Better than I was when we started. And keeping it with us in practically asking Hydra to take it back.”

Her heart sank. “You want me to destroy it.” He nodded and she sighed, taking her glasses off so she could rub at her eyes. James got up and moved to sit next to her, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “You’re right,” she said finally, though it was hard to get the words out. “It’s just. . . my life’s work.”

“I know,” he said softly, with enough honest sympathy she actually felt better. “But you can make it again, can’t you?”

“I think so.” It was all in her head. The formula, the work she’d done. With time and the right equipment she could replicate it. But there was little chance of having either of those things any time soon. The idea of destroying it - the only good thing that had come out of the last few years - hurt almost as much as losing her family and life had.

But he was right. If Hydra got their hands on it it would be catastrophic. They had the research and results she’d written down, but she had very carefully kept some of her work out of the files. Someone with similar knowledge and experience to hers would eventually be able to replicate it, but it would likely take years, if you could find that person. Having an actual sample of the formula would solve that problem immediately.

“I need white vinegar,” she said finally, felling miserable. “And salt.”

They waited until full dark to go out to the water. She dumped all the serum into a bowl, then poured in an equal amount of vinegar. It hissed faintly as she swirled it all together. Then she submerged the bowl into the ocean.

“And we’re sure this won’t cause a bunch of super strong fish?” James asked, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

She smiled, though her heart wasn’t really in it. “Yes. The vinegar and salt neutralize the active chemicals. It won’t have any effect on the fish.”

He used his metal hand to crush the glass syringes and they threw those, and the bowl, into a dumpster on the way back to their hotel room. It had been hard to do, and it hurt. But with the destruction of the last of her formula she felt oddly lighter. As if she’d snapped the last thread to her past and was ready to face the future. Whatever it held.

When she climbed onto the big grey ship that would take them across the Pacific she was ready to become someone new.


	10. Chapter 10

The trip across the Pacific took the better part of a month. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it could have been. Their bunk was private and not much smaller than some of the hotel rooms they’d shared. The food in the galley was carb heavy, but plentiful. It took them a couple days to get their sea legs. The ship was big enough it only rocked in the worst of weather and for the most part the sea had been smooth.

They had pared down their bags as much as they could before boarding. They had plenty of cash left, clothes that would see them through the trip. Amanda had kept a couple of her books, which had entertained them through their nauseous early days. But by day four they’d reached the end of the entertainment their little bunk could provide.

Amanda balked a bit when James suggested he started training her. They had no idea what, if any resistance they’d meet at the Hydra facilities they were planning on attacking. He knew she could shoot; she’d told him stories of her dad and afternoons at the range. And she was fucking brutal with a knife in her hand. As far as weapons were concerned he trusted her at his six. But there was a lot more to surviving this kind of work than that. Not wanting to be a liability - or, perhaps more importantly, get killed or captured - she agreed to training.

Day five he woke her at dawn and made her jog the length of the ship. He could have walked the pace she set. Backwards. Blindfolded. But she made it the whole was down and back twice before demanding a break. He pushed her harder the next day, then harder still, until she was cursing him between her panting. When she could do two laps at a decent clip he started adding hand-to-hand training in the afternoons.

That, admittedly, was a lot more fun. They found an empty space in the hold, regrettably unpadded, which lead to some bruises. That night Amanda informed him he was never, ever getting sex again. Ever. He tried to convince her orgasms helped sore muscles, but she went all doctory on him before falling asleep.

Her punch when he tried to wake her up for her morning run was actually pretty impressive.

The regular exercise and more basic diet meant that by the time they pulled into Shanghai three weeks later James had to bribe one of the disembarking sailors to buy her some new clothes and bring them back. She’d lost the padding she’d had on her waist and hips and claimed that none of her shirts fit properly due to the new muscles in her arms and shoulders. He remembered enough about women not to comment on the changes either way, but she seemed utterly delighted with her new “badass bitch” look.

They reached Vladivostok a week later and snuck through customs, just as promised. The first warehouse on their list was a few miles north of the city so after an afternoon of getting their bearings James went to work getting them a ride and more weapons. Normally he’d have found somewhere to stash Amanda while he did so, but they weren’t planning to stay in town after their mission, and with her new skills, clothes and that wicked scar on her face he was pretty confident no one would mess with her.

It took a couple careful conversations to find out who to talk to and they found themselves being lead to the back room of a noisy night club. Two barrel chested men frisked them - professionally, fortunately, or Amanda might have been demonstrating her new skills early - before they we ushered into an office with impressive sound proofing.

Kaspar Yurlov was, apparently, _the_ black market trader in Vladivostok. Slim and immaculately dressed, his pale hair was starting to turn ashy with age. He studied James and Amanda a moment and his gaze caught on the metal hand peeking out of his sleeve. “I’ve heard of you,” Yurlov said in Russian. “Thought you were a myth. The boogeyman to scare little assassin babies.”

“Didn’t know bad guys told campfire stories,” he replied, also in Russian. Amanda, to his relief, didn’t react to the choice of language, making it impossible to tell if she understood or not.

Yurov smiled a little. “I suppose every myth has a grain of truth. You doing a job in my city?”

He needed to tread carefully. Word got out about the Winter Soldier being active in Russia who knew how many people would be on their tails. “Had a disagreement with my bosses. Cleaning up some loose ends while I decide my next steps.”

The Russian nodded and studied Amanda. She noticed the regard and arched a brow. He grinned. “Your woman is feisty.”

It was hard not to grin. “You have no idea.”

Apparently, they passed muster, because Yurov’s expression changed and he got down to business. “You need guns and a car. I can do this for you.”

“How much?”

“A favor. Or rather, an exchange of good for services. I do this for you now and in the future, I can call on your for services.”

The idea of being in the pocket of a Russian mobster didn’t sit well at all. James imagined it wouldn’t be any more appealing to Amanda. “That’s not how I do business,” he said. “You have guns; I’ll pay for them. I don’t owe people.”

“Money I have,” Yurov said pleasantly. “A favor from the Soldier. That is worth far more than guns or a truck.”

James clenched and unclenched his jaw. There were other men in the black market. But the more of a story this made, the more it would be told. He leaned over to whisper in Amanda’s ear. “He wants a favor from me as payment.”

Her gaze flicked to his and she seemed to read all his concerns in an instant. She glanced at Yurov and seemed to size him up. “We don’t do favors, we do business. You deal fair with us and we’ll deal fair with you, if you need his services someday. I’m sure you have competitors who will do business if you won’t.”

Yurov’s eyes narrowed and Amanda didn’t look away, standing calmly, arms crossed. “You leave your number, so I can call on you.”

“Deal,” she said easily. “And I want a knife.”

An hour later they were driving a ten year old Jeep our of town, its trunk full of guns. Amanda was in the passenger seat, playing with her new NR-40 scout knife, twirling it.

“If you cut yourself with that I will never let you hear the end of it,” he informed her.

“It’s really well balanced. Why is the guard backwards?”

He glanced over. “You’re supposed to hold in backwards, blade along your forearm as you come up to someone.”

She twirled it, flattening the blade along her arm as he’d described. He watched to make sure she didn’t slice a vein, but she handled it well. “We can start more advanced knife work, if you want.”

“Are you saying my sneak up on them and jab it in their kidney move isn’t enough?” She slid the knife into the sheath strapped to her thigh and leaned back in the seat, smirking.

“It’s a start,” he said diplomatically and she laughed. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Amanda glanced at him in surprise. “For what?”

“Coming with me. This would be. . . hard alone. Sometimes I’m still not sure how to talk to people. How to interact. And I think having you with me added something to the negotiations. Made it clear I’m not who I was.”

She was quiet a moment, then reached over and squeezed his thigh. “We’re a good team.” Taking her hand back, she looked out the window at the woods lining the road. “Thanks for training me. Trusting me to actually be a part of this. I admit, I was a little worried you’d start leaving me behind now that we were. . . an item.”

That had obviously not been the phrase she’d initially planned to use. He grinned. “Nah. I’m kind of looking forward to you taking a guy down. It’ll be hot.”

Shaking her head, she gave him a half hearted swat. “I want a badass code name, Mr. Soldier.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll get right on that.”

*

The warehouse, when they reached it, was in the middle of fucking nowhere and very clearly deserted. They parked off the side of the building where they wouldn’t be seen from the road. Sticking to small arms and a couple heavy duty flashlights from the back of the Jeep, they found a door that James could kick in and started their exploration.

The inside of the building had all the earmarks of a place that had been abandoned in a hurry. Papers covered the floor and there were crates and file boxes stacked haphazardly in random places. There was a large, main room in the center, with smaller, windowless rooms branching off it. Industrial metal stairs led up to cat walks.

Amanda crouched and scooped up a couple pieces of paper, using the flashlight to read them. They weren’t in English - or, fortunately, cyrillic - but she recognized what looked like medical abbreviations and vitals records. Letting the papers flutter back to the ground she kept following James around the perimeter. 

He peeked in one room and moved on. A glance told her it was empty, possibly storage or an office at one point. He reached the next doorway while she was looking and made a distressed noise that was enough to get her to sprint the last few steps. That room was not empty. It held a metal exam table, set up to do surgery, and in the back corner was a metal and glass box that strongly resembled a sarcophagus.

James was breathing like a wounded animal, hands trembling almost imperceptibly. She caught him by a fistful of shirt and dragged him out of the room, pressing on his shoulder so he would sit down and lower his head.

 “Flashback?” she asked, stroking his hair gently. He nodded, sucking in air. She patted him. “Right. I’m going to look around. Stay here and breathe. Yell if you need me.” He nodded again and she left him reluctantly, heading back into the room with the box.

It was definitely a containment unit of some sort. There were monitors inside, for heartbeat and respiration, as best she could tell. It wasn’t like any sort of monitoring system she’d ever seen. Farther down were various tubes and vents to handle bodily functions and waste. It was half coffin, half coma patient’s bed. She knew enough about what had been done to James and how he’d been treated to fill in the blanks.

This couldn’t stay here. She doubted he’d sleep well again knowing this existed in the world. Circling it, she found the motor and power source on the back, including tubes full of coolant. Using her new knife, she sliced through those tubes, spilling pungent smelling fluid onto the floor. She edged back to try to keep it off her boots. She imagined it was rather flammable.

Which. . . gave her an idea.

She inspected the rest of the room for anything that might be useful. There was a map on the wall with holes from pin pricks. She tore it down and folded it up into her pocket to inspect later. There was nothing else of interest in the room, so she headed to the next one, checking on James briefly on her way. He was breathing more normally but seemed disinclined to get up.

The next two rooms were more drifts of paper and toppled furniture. The third had a generator; insurance against isolated Russian winters, she assumed. It had a line of gas tanks next to it and when she rocked a couple she found them partially full. She picked the lightest one and dragged it with her as she checked the last five side rooms, splashing the floors with gas as she cleared them. She didn’t find much, a ring of keys, a couple ID cards and more papers she couldn't read.

James was up and alert by the time she’d finished. His gaze fell to the empty gas tank she was carrying. “You find any more of those?” he asked. She nodded and pointed to the generator room. He strode to the room and came out with two more cans, splashing their contents across the main room.

They dragged the last of the tanks to their Jeep for future use and James dug out a flare from the emergency kit in the back of the vehicle. He met her gaze before heading back inside with it, as if he was searching for something. She wasn’t sure if he wanted her to talk him out of it. Probably not, considering it had been her idea in the first place.

“Go on,” she said quietly. “Catharsis comes in all manner of forms.”

His mouth quirked up in something resembling a smile and he nodded, then strode back into the warehouse. Flames leapt into the windows a few seconds later, then he reappeared in the doorway, back lit by the flames. The blaze caught swiftly and Amanda boosted herself onto the hood of the Jeep so they could watch it and make sure it didn’t catch the trees around them.

James leaned next to her, resting against the front bumper. “I feel like I should apologize for dragging you into this.”

She glanced down at him. “I don’t recall any dragging. I walked onto that ship on my own. No kicking and screaming.”

“I know. I know. I just. . . feel like random arson isn’t exactly what you signed up for.”

“Yes,” she said dryly. “This is much worse than the shooting and stabbing people I’d expected.” She nudged his shoulder gently. “It’s fine. It’s almost romantic.” He gave her a skeptical look. “It is! Clear summer night, bonfire. Hot guy. This is a pretty good date.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a cheap date, Newbury.”

“Don’t knock it, Barnes.”

He studied her a moment, then pushed off the bumper and walked around to the driver’s side door and leaned in, turning the key enough to get the radio playing. It took a moment of fiddling before he found something soft and romantic sounding. Then he came back around the car and held out a hand.

Amanda arched a brow. “Seriously?”

“I used to be pretty good at this. Once upon a time. I think the general idea is still the same. Hold onto a pretty girl and shuffle around. Steal a kiss if the opportunity presents itself.”

It was a little cheesy and silly. But he was grinning and looking particularly charming, despite the scruff and weapons and the blazing building behind him. So she took his hand and hopped off the car hood. He flattened a hand on the small of her back and held her hand carefully in his metal one and began to lead her in a dance. Almost despite herself, she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. He pressed his face into his hair and she heard him take a deep breath, noticeably relaxing against her.

*

The rest of the Hydra bases on their list were in the west, outside of Moscow, or in former Soviet states. Which meant James and Amanda had to get all the way across Russia. Driving twelve hour days it would take over eight days which seemed interminably long, despite the fact that a week or two probably didn’t matter in the long run. Still, the goal was to get across the continent as quickly as possible.

The plan lasted two days. Right up until the Jeep died on a narrow two lane road in the middle of nowhere. He knew a bit about cars, Amanda slightly less. Neither of them knew enough to fix the damn thing with the handful of tools they found in the back. So they left it on the side of the road, grabbed what they could carry, and started hiking back towards the last town they’d seen, a few miles back.

It might have been more of a village than a town, James wasn’t sure how one rated these things. They’d passed what looked like pastures of sheep and goats as well as a few fields of grain. The people who met them were bent by work and weathered, eyeing the strangers with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. 

To his relief, there were several men who knew their way around an engine - lot of beat up trucks in this town - who agreed to come tow their Jeep back and work on it. He left Amanda with a few of the women who’d come out to greet them, hoping the language barrier wouldn’t get her into too much trouble.

When he got back she was stitching up the leg of a teenage boy, who was translating for her in the consult she was giving to a heavily pregnant woman who was standing next to her.

“Making friends?” he asked.

“They don’t have a doctor here,” she said, not looking up from her stitching. “Have to go almost fifty miles to get to one. So I’m helping out. Got us a place to sleep for the night.” She glanced up at him. “Barter system, economy at its purest.”

He couldn’t help but grin a little. Why had he ever worried? “Yurgi and Ivan think they can fix the Jeep in a day or two. So keep stitching and get us a second night.”

She laughed and shook her head before going back to her work.

Two days became a week when said heavily pregnant lady went into labor and Amanda stayed to help her deliver healthy twin girls. James was quite proud of her, though he wanted nothing to do with birth and babies. He discovered he was rather handy, helping to fix a couple roofs and rebuild some fencing on a goat pasture.

It felt remarkably good. Living simple, helping people who needed it. He didn’t know how to express the feeling to Amanda, but he thought, based on how hard she worked for her patients and the smiles she had for children and women who had begun to flock together near her. There was something to be said for being this far from their pasts. Hydra and SHIELD and Steve and her sister and everything else weighing them down was a half a world away. Here there was only houses to be fixed and people to be healed. Work they could, work they loved.

He curled around her in the bed they were sharing in a spare room of the formerly-pregnant-now-a-new-mother’s house. “It’s nice here,” he said quietly.

“It is.” She shifted a little. “Do you want to stay longer?”

They had planned to leave in the morning. The Jeep was fixed, the babies were thriving. There were no more reasons to stay. But he didn’t find himself as eager to as he’d thought. “We should have been in Moscow now. I want to be there but I also want to be here. But I don’t know how long that will last and by the time we’re finished here. . . will we have lost our chance at the people we’re hunting?”

She was quiet for a few moments. “This town isn’t going anywhere. I’m pretty sure they’d welcome us back. And there are probably more towns like this between here and Moscow.” Rolling to look back him. “You said you wanted to be someone between James Barnes and the Winter Soldier. That means finding these compromises. Putting a foot in each world and finding the balance.”

He took a deep breath of her scent and tugged her closer. “This is why I keep you around.” It _was_ a balance and sometimes the Soldier felt very heavy. She evened him out, understanding both sides of him and embracing both.

“Not the medical knowledge?” she teased.

Rumbling a chuckle, he kissed her hair. “That helps too. It’s all a tapestry.”

And that was how a road trip that should have taken less than two weeks took over two months. They stopped in almost a dozen towns, sometimes miles out of their way when residents of one town sent them to another where their cousins or brother’s lived. James built things and learned how to fix cars and lay shingle and tile and at one point shear a sheep - a skill he was content to leave unused.

Amanda picked up medicine and medical equipment when they found cities large enough to have them and used them up almost immediately. He expected her to be frustrated at the limits of how much she could help - fixing acute injuries and illnesses and trying to advise those with chronic issues. Locals taught her remedies that had been handed down for centuries and she filled a notebook with them, as well as the anecdotes and stories that came with them. 

He was starting to see the balance that she held, between the doctor she’d been trained to be and the survivor she’d been forced to become. There was still a good chance they wouldn’t survive the things they had planned. He suspected that knowledge was what kept them both stopping in these towns and helping. But even with that hanging over her head, she took her notes and planned a proper study of the local remedies, just in case she was ever in a position to come back and collect real data.

It was subtle and never said out loud. But it was a kind of hope.

When they finally reached Moscow it was September and already starting to snow in the higher elevations with bitter cold nights predicted for later in the week. They found a mid-priced hotel to stay for the night so they could regroup and plan their next steps. Being in the city was a bit of a culture shock and hiding in a room for a night or two seemed a good idea.

The next morning they pulled out their trusty maps and drew a path from one base to the next. “We could hit this one tomorrow night,” Amanda suggested, tapping on the closest one - a mere six hours out of Moscow. “This close to the city it might be bigger - more information.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “It’ll be good to get back to the mission.” He mostly believed it. The trip here had been good for them both. And after a good night’s sleep he felt his head on more or less straight. Best of all, he felt like there was something waiting for him on the other side. He hadn’t let him think about what might happen _after_ he’d finished his revenge. But in the last two months he’d found himself helping people, for no reason than he wanted to. He could find a way to do that.

Amanda leaned over to kiss his temple. “I’m going to shower, then maybe we should go find lunch?”

He caught her hip and pulled her in for a deeper kiss. “You sure you don’t want room service?”

Grinning, she dodged him and headed for the shower. “I might let you convince me.”

He watched her disappear into the bathroom and waited for the water to turn on before gathering up the maps and turning the TV on to see what Russians watched in the middle of the day.

Instead, he found a special news report, showing shaky cell phone video of a dusty looking city that appeared to be. . . hovering in the air. The angle - and video switched - and there was Captain America, shield in hand, fighting what appeared to be robots. One of them struck him, sending him flying off screen and James felt an immediate surge of panic until he reappeared, still fighting, and he could breathe again.

He was still staring at the TV, barely even listening to the commentator, just watching for more glimpses of Steve in the chaotic footage, when Amanda came out of the bathroom, wrapping in a towel. She was grinning, obviously expecting to flirt more, then stopped abruptly when she saw his face. Crossing quickly to his side, put a hand on his arm when she saw what was on the TV.

“I feel like I should be there,” he said, voice hoarse. “I should be watching out for him.”

She rubbed his arm gently. “It’ll be over by the time we get there.”

Later, when he could think again, he would be warmed by the fact she’d used the word “we.” “I know. I know, it’s not logical. But that’s Steve and I should be helping him. It’s like it’s carved into my DNA.”

Amanda slid an arm around him and he leaned into her, unable to look away from the footage as it played.

“Do you think I’ll ever fight on his side again?” he asked softly.

She pressed a little kiss onto the top of his head and squeezed him tightly against her side. “I have absolute faith you will.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *glances at time*  
> *points to sick kid*  
> *goes to get more coffee*
> 
> If anyone reading is from/lives in Belarus I apologize if I've misrepresented your country in any way.

Their one month estimate to finish their mission turned out to be extremely optimistic. Like Napoleon and Hitler before them, they severely underestimated the severity of a Russian winter. James especially, was hit hard by the cold, slowing his reaction times. Amanda assumed it had something to do with his repeated cryo-induced hibernations. Without some serious diagnostic equipment she couldn’t determine if it had actually damaged him or was at least partially psychosomatic. In either case, it meant a lot of laying low, conserving energy and trying to keep him as warm as possible.

They were able to hit the two remaining Russian bases, the second of which had been occupied. It was the first time they’d met any sort of resistance since San Francisco and with James functioning at less than his best it had been a bit of a debacle. They’d taken out their target - a scientist who’d been in charge of The Asset program in the eighties - and destroyed the labs in a fire. But James had been shot twice in the right shoulder and Amanda had ended up with chemical burns on her arm when they’d cobbled together the accelerant for the fire.

The fire had caught attention of the authorities and they drove half the night, James doing his best to staunch his wounds and her packing snow on her arm to rinse off the chemicals as she drove. When he lost consciousness, she continued only long enough to find a pharmacy she could rob and then found them a sketchy, anonymous motel to patch up in.

Recovering from their injuries lost them another month. Cold slowed James’s healing time, though he was still using his arm far sooner than a normal man would have been, especially with her minimal equipment. She, of course, was not a super soldier, and had to suffer several weeks, including a secondary infection that had James offering to turn himself in so she could go to the hospital.

It was a strange time. Amanda had had boyfriends before. Some she’d probably been in love with, though she’d never said it to them. She couldn’t name one of them she’d have suffered through a cold unmedicated for. But for James she self medicated with Motrin and some antibiotics he stole when her fever spiked dangerously. It never occurred to her to leave, to out them by getting help. Maybe if it had gotten worse. Maybe if it had looked like she might lose the arm, or that the infection was spreading. But other than a couple hours of high fever when she could do little more than nap, she was capable of caring for herself.

James wasn’t at his best, either. It was only getting colder and now he had two holes in his shoulder. The serum didn’t protect one from pain, but it did mean commercial pain killers didn’t really work. So while she was able to stitch him up and keep his bandages fresh, there was nothing she could do for the ache and itching of the healing process. 

There was some frustration, some short tempers and snapping at each other. But for the most part they stayed a team, each caring for the other when they needed it. By Christmas his shoulder wounds were scarred and starting to fade and her arm had healed, leaving only a patch of rough, discolored skin. They rang in the new year sneaking across the border to Belarus, making their way north to a town called Barysaw. 

Barysaw was a smallish city less than fifty miles from the Belarus capital of Minsk and less than twenty from the Hydra base that was next on their list. Due to a few weeks of staying far below the radar, their funds were healthy, if limited. It was cheaper to find a room or apartment to let short term than to try to wait it out in a motel. They were in a new country, after a long convalescence, caution and planning was required.

After a miserable night sleeping in the Jeep in twenty degree weather, Amanda managed to find a nice widow who was renting out an apartment on the second floor of her house. Rent was negotiable if they were willing to help out with chores and errands and she thought Amanda’s shaky if improving Russian was adorable. 

The apartment was three rooms and a bathroom and seemed positively luxurious after their accommodations the last couple of months. After a trip to the grocery store she made them dinner in the kitchenette. They ate burgers and frozen french fries at the small two-person formica table from the seventies and it was quite possibly the best meal she’d ever had. Later, in the cozy bedroom heated by a rattling radiator, they made love for the first time in weeks. It was tender and passionate and settled the last of the worry and fear she’d been carrying around. As she drifted to sleep, tucked in the curve of his body, she let herself believe things were getting better.

A few days after settling in, Amanda found herself a local cafe with free wi-fi with purchase. She settled down with soup and a sandwich and their beat up laptop to try to find some aerial photos of the Hydra base they were here for. Barysaw had very distinct old and new sides and they were staying in the old one. She probably could have driven a couple miles and found a Starbucks but the quiet anonymity of a neighborhood shop suited her just fine. Besides, James had taken the car and was running some errands and doing some repairs for their landlady and some of her friends. She was a little concerned she’d just pimped him out to a bunch of elderly Belarusians, but she was pretty confident he could handle himself. And if they were lucky, maybe one of them would send him home with some cookies or other delicious baked goods.

Belarus, as she had learned in her initial Wikipedia skim, was a land-locked, marshy country that was 40% forest. Hydra had set up their base smack in the middle of one of those swampy forests and, as such, it was extremely difficult to get good visual intel. Still, she’d managed to hunt down a few satellite images of the general area, including some roads and ATV tracks that would be their best routes in. They could do some extrapolation on the size of the place from what they could be. But it was mostly speculation without driving out there to get a look at it.

Sighing, she leaned back from the computer and stretched, before picking up her tea mug and sipping the lukewarm dregs. The bell over the door jingled and she glanced up instinctively.

To see Steve Rogers walk into the cafe.

For a moment she was sure she was seeing things, or at least confusing a look alike for the real thing. Then she got a look at the person with him and knew her first instinct had been right. She hadn’t know Agent 13 by anything other than reputation, but any decent SHIELD agent knew Sharon Carter when they saw them. Her legacy was legendary.

Amanda could have convinced herself the handsome blond man in heavy boots and a new winter coat was just a genetic lottery winner. She couldn’t pretend that said lottery winner just happened to be hanging out with Sharon Carter’s doppelgänger.

They crossed to the counter and she was close enough to hear them order. Rogers’s Russian was pretty good and his voice was almost unmistakable. Panic fluttered in her chest and she forced herself to finish off the rest of her tea and go back to her computer, changing to a shopping site to seem less interesting. There was no reason for her to catch their attention. In a hand-knit sweater (a gift from one of the people she’d helped on their way across Russia), well-loved combat boots and dented up lap top she was indistinguishable from any of the locals hanging out at the tables near her. Getting up and leaving right now would draw more attention than waiting them out for a little while. So she pretended to write emails and smiled and nodded when the waitress brought her some more hot water for her tea.

Rogers and Carter sat too far away and spoke too softly for her to hear anything. They didn’t seem to pay her any mind, at least not anymore than they did for other customers. She finished her last cup and gathered up her things and left without incident. The back of her neck prickled as she walked away but no one cried out behind her or came running after her. The fear of that followed her the whole way home, however and she had to lean against the back of the door for a while, taking deep slow breaths, to convince herself nothing had gone wrong.

James arrived home a couple hours later, just after it occurred to her to worry about whether or not he would. She was sitting at the kitchen table, sorting through the photos she’d saved from her search when the lock rattled and he stepped inside. Her mood did improve a little when she saw he was, in fact, carrying a plate of what looked like brownies. He looked tired but offered her a smile before he saw her face and grew concerned.

“What happened?” he asked, sinking into the seat at the table across from her. 

She swallowed hard and briefly considered not telling him. It was possible Rogers being here was a coincidence. There was almost two hundred thousand people in this city. If they moved quickly they could finish their mission here and be on their way, without ever crossing his paths again.

But that wasn’t fair, or likely, so she took a deep breath and said, “I saw Steve Rogers and a SHIELD agent in town today.”

He looked stricken a moment, sucking air in through his nose. Leaning back in his chair, he stared at her a moment. “Did he see you?”

“No. I doubt he’d have any idea who I was if he did. They were getting lunch at the cafe I was using to get internet access.”

“Do you know the agent?” He shook his head sharply. “You must have, if you knew who he was.”

“She,” Amanda corrected mildly. “And she was sort of famous. She’s Peggy Carter’s grand-niece.”

The look of vaguely panicked shock on his face faded a bit and he arched a brow. “Steve is running around with Peg’s _niece_?”

She propped her chin on her fist. “You kind of want to turn yourself in just to tease him about this, don’t you?”

“It briefly crossed my mind.” He blew out a breath and rocked in his chair. “Either he noticed a pattern in the attacks on Hydra or we pinged something when we crossed the border.”

“It could be a coincidence,” she offered. “This is the closest city to the base here. Maybe they’re just. . . on the same mission as we are.”

James was already shaking his head. “Steve’s not subtle. You don’t send him on recon missions, even with a trained spy. If he’s here and not actively kicking in doors then it’s personal. It’s about me.”

She sighed, because she knew he was right but it was hard to let go of even the frail hope. “What do you want to do?”

His jaw twitched a little and he looked away from her. She folded her hands on the table and gave him his space to think it over. Ever since watching the incident in Sokovia Steve had been close to the surface. He’d told her more stories, had more nightmares. She was certain, without a doubt, that the idea of sending up a flare and getting help from his old friend had crossed his mind at least once when they were both injured and hurting. And now here he was, somewhere in the same town. That had to be tempting, even subconsciously.

“I want to finish the mission,” he said finally, though she didn’t think he sounded convinced. He looked at her uncertainly and she wondered if he hoped she’d talk him out of it.

Maybe she should. It didn’t mean they had to go with Rogers. They could just turn around and go back to one of the little Russian towns they’d spent time in over the summer. Even lay low here until it was safe and start a new life here. Her Russian had gotten passable. They were starting to make connections here. It would do, for a while at least.

But a few miles out of town there was a building that might have housed the Winter Soldier. Might hold secrets and information that James needed to know in order to find peace. He obviously didn’t think his job was done, even though he wanted it to be. So it was going to be once more into the breach. And maybe this would be it.

She reached out and covered his shoulder with a hand. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”

He relaxed, she could feel his muscles un-tense, and he lifted his metal hand to cover hers. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“We’re a team,” she told him, meaning it more now than she ever had. “You’re still the only person I have in the world.”

That made him smile and he leaned over to kiss her, squeezing her hand. She sank into the kiss a moment, until his grip on her hand grew uncomfortable. Then she pulled back a little. “James -”

The plates on his arm were shifting forward and backwards and she felt his fingers flex and twitch. His jaw clenched and he reached up with his right hand, prying the fingers off of her hand. She pulled away, rubbing blood and feeling back into the hand. He was glaring down at the metal arm. “It’s malfunctioning, isn’t it?” He nodded, not looking at her. “How long,” she pressed.

“A couple of weeks,” he admitted after a long silence. “Before we got here. It wasn’t this bad, but I worked hard today.”

She blew out a breath. Just when they solved one problem. . . “Do you know how to fix it?”

He finally got it to behave enough to stay where he put it on the table. “I don’t know. Maybe. I need equipment and I was hoping they’d have it at this base.”

Asking what he planned to do if it _didn’t_ was probably pointless. For now it was a plan and they needed one of those.

“Okay,” she said softly, reaching to turn the laptop to face him. “Okay. Let me show you what I found.”

*

The forest surrounding the Belarus base was thick and green, with vaguely humid, murky undergrowth. The tree cover was thick enough there was no snow dusting the ground. If the base had been occupied, the terrain would have worked in their favor. Easy to hide, easy to sneak through. Not the kind you want to stay in long term, of course. James had served in the Western theater in the War, which had had plenty of downsides. But the stories he’d heard from those who’d known people in the Pacific made seemed even worse. Damp air and ground was no one’s friend.

All of that became moot when they reached the base and found it abandoned. It was oddly disappointing. The last manned base had been a debacle, of course, but James would have put up with a firefight if it meant finding a technician who knew how to fix his arm.

The arm was worse than he’d let on to Amanda. It had become hard to make it do anything he wanted, even holding a knife or driving. He’d never been particularly _fond_ of the damn thing. It was a relic of the abuse he’d suffered at Hydra. But it served a purpose and was better than nothing. Sometimes he could forget its providence and just think of it as his arm. As long as it was working. Now it felt like something foreign, poorly attached to his body, and only making his life harder.

So as they crept through the back entrance into a dark, gloomy brick and stone building that looked more like a factory than any sort of secret spy base, he felt his heart sink a little. By the twist of Amanda’s mouth, she was similarly disheartened, glancing around at the cobwebs and layer of dust. Still, they were here now and there was no harm in looking around.

They stuck together, preferring safety and company to efficiency. The first floor was much the same as the other bases they’d been in. Small labs, offices, storage rooms, all cleaned out and scattered with papers and equipment. Amanda scanned some of the papers, as she always did, on the off chance there was any useful information. As usual, it was contextless record keeping that did them little good. The second floor was more of the same. None of the labs looked familiar or had any sort of equipment that looked like it would work on his arm. Disappointment tugged at him as he began to suspect this had been an exercise in futility.

“Is there anywhere we haven’t looked?” Amanda asked as they returned to the first floor.

He sighed, looking up and down the door lined hallway. “We opened every door, checked every room.”

“But this was on the list of places the Asset was held. I didn’t see anywhere set up to support you, in or out of cryo.”

That was true. Every other base had had at least one room with equipment and storage facilities too large to move or dismantle with the speed they’d abandoned this place in. Even in San Francisco, which had been even more office building than this one had a large room dedicated to monitoring him and prepping him for cryo.

A large room in the basement.

He glanced down at the floor and she followed his gaze. She lifted a foot and tapped, then stomped. The sound was distinctly hollow. They looked at each other again and he gave her a crooked grin. “Hidden door?”

“I feel like Nancy Drew,” she replied, turning away before he could find out who the hell that was.

For the hidden door hunt they did split up, in the interest of speed. After a few minutes of poking at walls and floors he heard Amanda call out for him and hurried a few doors down to find her peering into a very dark trapdoor.

“This is a horror movie waiting to happen,” she said when he came up to her. “There’s totally cannibals or demons or an evil Santa Claus down there.”

It was kind of overwhelmingly black down there. Still. . . “We’re probably not far enough north for Santa.”

“Zombie Nazis, then.”

He clicked on his flashlight and was relieved to find stone stairs leading into the dark. “Well, Nazis I can handle.” He gave her a reassuring peck on the cheek and headed down. A moment later her light joined his and he heard her follow him. 

The basement was deeper than he’d expected, the ceiling high enough he couldn’t reach it when he stretched his arm up. Their flash lights revealed the kind of equipment he’d been expecting to find, too familiar for comfort. Including one he remembered having his arm strapped into a few times. “Lets try to find a generator or something.”

A search of the walls revealed an electrical panel. Amanda flicked breakers back and forth until something above them clunked loudly and the lights came on.

The room ran the length of the building and had a dank, dungeon quality to it, despite the very high tech equipment filling it. A little age and patina and you could be convinced it was a good old fashioned torture chamber. And, he supposed in a way, it had been.

Amanda followed him over to the chair with the arm clamps. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she said as he set down his flash light and weapon and started poking at the hand tools lined up next to it.

“You’re letting the atmosphere get to you.”

“I’m letting my common sense get to me.” She watched him line up familiar looking tools on a nearby table. “Neither of us know what we’re doing. We could make it worse.”

He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Not much worse it can get. It’s getting close to unusable.” He looked over and saw the concern in her eyes. “It’s better to try.”

She held his gaze a moment, rubbing her arm uncomfortably. He wondered if she was remembering the chair he’d been strapped to in San Francisco. Those particular unpleasant memories were certainly in the back of his mind. But he didn’t know of any other options. And they were running out of time. So he sat in the chair and laid his arm into the metal clamps, hitting the switch that would close them. When he was secure, he picked up one of the tools - a pen looking thing with two prongs on the end - and started poking.

Sighing, Amanda stepped closer and inspected what he was doing. “Based on the schematics in your files it looked like they built in something like a nervous system. So if you’re having problems with your grip. . .” She trailed off, taking the tool from him and started digging.

His fingers twitched and flexed and he was glad he was restrained because for a while he didn’t have much control over his movements. She got it dialed in eventually, and with some input from him based on what he remembered from his tune-ups, they actually made some progress. Pretty soon he could move his fingers exactly how he wanted and was asking her to hand him things to hold.

“Think we’re good?” she asked, watching him twirl a dried out pen through the fingers. 

“Seems like it. Think we can bring some of this stuff with us?”

She inspected the pronged tool she’d been using. “Can’t hurt. It doesn’t seem to have a power source or anything.” Above them, the lights flickered and they both looked up, frowning. The lights blazed bright and the clamps on his arm started to tighten as the machine started to short out. James cursed and scrambled for the button to release it.

Amanda turned and darted for the electrical panel. Halfway there it let out a loud hum and shorted out, sparks scattering, forcing her to stop and shield her face with her arms. After a particularly impressive shower of sparks there was a loud pop and the lights went out.

For a moment, everything was pitch black and silent, save for the sound of his and Amanda’s breathing. Then he heard her fumbling around and a flashlight came on. “Are you all right?” she asked, aiming her light at him.

“I think so-” he started to say, then stopped when he got a good look at his arm. The clamps had bent, digging into the metal plates. He’d expected the machine to let him go when the power went out, but either it had shorted before it happened, or this was what was supposed to happen with the electricity out. Which. . . might make sense, considering how scared of him the techs had been.

“Shit,” she muttered, shifting the flashlight to her left hand to try and tug at the clamps. He reached out to help her, but had no leverage and the thing didn’t even budge. “Shit,” Amanda repeated.

“Look around for a pry bar or something,” he suggested, trying to remember if he’d seen one when they’d come in.

“This thing was designed to hold you down. I’ll bend the bar before I get that open.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “We need someone as strong as you.”

He looked at her swiftly, but couldn’t see her expression in the lighting. “No.”

“Do you have any other ideas?” She turned now and he could see she didn’t look particularly happy about it, either.

“If you - if we do this then the mission is over.” He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Leaving a mission unfinished didn’t sit well with him, but he didn’t know if that was coming from _him_ or the programming of the Soldier.

“Maybe. Or maybe we regroup and start again, this time with Captain America on our side.” He stared at her and she shrugged. “I don’t know what happens next, James. But there isn’t another option here. I can’t get you out, you can’t get you out. Do you want to take your whole arm off? Because I think that leaves us worse off than we began.”

The idea made him shudder. Complicated relationship or not, having the arm was better than not having it. And she was right. He was good and stuck and they were short on options.

And, if he was being honest, he was tired. They’d been on the run for ten months, not all of them good. Amanda still hadn’t entirely recovered from the burn on her arm. She was thin, and the shadows under her eyes were getting dark enough to be bruises. If he, with his extensive training and serum enhancements, was tired, she had to be barely holding it together.

He’d started this knowing that sooner or later it would end. Having to be rescued by Steve from a malfunctioning piece of machinery wasn’t the most dignified thing in the world. But it left him and, more importantly Amanda, alive. That was a worthy trade.

So he sighed and nodded, leaning forward to rest his forehead on hers. “Think you can find him?”

“I have learned a few tricks from you,” she said gently. “You’ll be okay by yourself?”

He kissed her and held a hand out so she’d hand him his gun. “I’ll hold off the zombie Nazis as long as possible.” It made her laugh a little, as he’d hoped. “If he doesn’t want to believe you, tell him. . . this is the end of the line.”

She nodded. “I’ll be quick as I can.” She handed him a flashlight as well, gave him another kiss and made her way back up the hidden stairs. He listened to her walking around upstairs. Then it was quiet and he leaned his head back against the head rest of the chair and closed his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

The run through the woods back to their Jeep were some of the most frightening minutes in Amanda’s life. She was plagued with the irrational fear she’d trip and break a leg or crack her head open, causing both her and James to starve to death. It was silly, and highly unlikely. But she was just superstitious enough to fear that after finally deciding to stop their dangerous mission they’d somehow trip at the finish line.

She made it to the Jeep safely, though, and it started with ease. The sun was coming up as she pulled into town and she parked near the cafe she’d seen Rogers at. There were a couple of motels a few blocks away. She needed to think of a good story to give the front desks to try to find the two pretty Americans. Long lost cousin? Dead beat husband? It would depend on the person she was talking to, what would make them the most sympathetic to her plight.

As she was thinking through her plan she saw a familiar pair of blondes strolling down the sidewalk. For a moment she pondered how she’d pay for this particular bit of luck and decided it was even for James getting stuck in that stupid machine. Maybe next time he’d listen to her when she said she had a bad feeling about something.

Rogers and Carter ducked into the cafe. Amanda counted to twenty and climbed out of the Jeep, following them in. She sank into a booth near theirs and contemplated how best to go about this. She’d learned a lot for James, but he’d never been much for subterfuge. He could find his target in a city of millions. But sit down and have a conversations with them? Not really his strength.

After ordering, Rogers got up and walked past her, heading towards the restrooms. Carter, despite her almost legendary status at SHIELD, seemed slightly more approachable. So before she could second guess herself, Amanda got up and slid into the seat across from her.

The blonde jumped a little and leaned back. “Do I know-”

“My name is Amanda Newbury, I was a SHIELD scientist until Hydra kidnapped me and faked my death. I’ve been traveling with James Barnes since the Triskelion fell.” That clearly got her attention, so Amanda pressed on. “We were at the Hydra base in the forest near here and need your help. Well. Captain Rogers’s help.”

Carter blinked rapidly a moment. “That’s. . . an interesting story. Can you give me a reason to believe you?”

Amanda smiled a little. “Nope. I have no ID with that name. I don’t think we ever met when I was at SHIELD. There’s no reason to believe I’m anything but a nut, or a trap or who knows what. But I swear I’m not. I need your help and I’m kind of putting my neck out to get it.”

Before she could form an answer, Rogers appeared next to the table. He glanced at Amanda, then Carter. “Sharon?”

“She claims she’s been helping Barnes and knows where he is.”

His gaze snapped back to Amanda. “Can you prove that?”

That, at least, she had an answer for. “He said to tell you, it was the end of the line.”

Rogers’s entire face changed. From wary suspicion to concern to hope and then an almost grim determination. “Show me,” he said.

They followed her poor Jeep out of town and back through the woods. She went in closer to the building then she had before, knowing there was no need for stealth. The others pulled in behind her and followed her into the imposing looking building and down into the hidden basement.

James was right where she’d left him and offered her a little smile when she hit the bottom of the stairs. She was a little surprised at the rush of relief she felt. Apparently, her subconscious had been worried about him. She crossed to his side and he slid his free arm around her, tugging her into him a moment, before turning to look at Rogers and Carter.

They approached much slower. Carter looked like she was expecting an attack, Rogers looked like he’d seen a ghost. With good reason, she supposed. He didn’t look much like the clean cut soldier in all the black and white pictures. Nor did he look as ragged and wild as the Soldier that had tried to kill him. James watched silently, muscles in his back twitching a little as if he was still trying to yank his arm out of the clamps.

“Do you remember me?” Rogers asked finally. He sounded worried, as if afraid to hope.

James studied him a moment. When he spoke it was very quiet and hoarse. “Your mother’s name was Sarah.” He glanced down. “You used to stuff news papers in your shoes.”

Carter made a quiet sound and looked at Rogers. His jaw tightened and twitched. Then he nodded and stepped forward to yank the clamps open.

*

The trip from Belarus to New York was a bit of a blur. Sharon Carter - who looked nothing like the Carter James remembered in his old life but certainly shared a personality trait or three - had insisted they go straight from the Hydra base to the air strip. When Amanda had protested they had belongings back at their flat, Sharon had gotten the address and promised everything would be delivered to New York. He and Steve had stood to one side and watched the women have whatever the female version of a dick measuring contest was, until a compromise had been found and they were allowed twenty minutes to pack a bag each to take immediately.

They had spent the flight using tools from the base and the jet they were flying to finish fixing his arm so he was confident he wouldn't hurt anyone or accidentally crush a door knob when they got where they were going. There was no privacy on the plane, or anywhere to lay down. Amanda dozed on his shoulder on and off and he must have slept as well, because they were landing far sooner than expected. 

Once in New York, he went in one direction with Steve, while Carter took Amanda in another. He felt an irrational flare of panic at being separated, but he could hear the women discussing a shower and figured she was safe enough for the time being.

A hot shower with sufficient water pressure was sort of miraculous. Then, clean, dressed in his own clothes and on American soil for the first time in months, he sat at a fake wood conference table and eyed his oldest friend in the world. 

"I used the newspapers because your hand-me-down shoes were always to big," Steve finally said.

His mouth quirked a little. "I remember. And your mom made the best cookies but her biscuits were always dry."

Steve looked down at the table, and then back up at him. "Do you remember everything?"

"Not sure I'd know if I didn't know something." He took a breath. "I remember the older stuff pretty well. Growing up in Brooklyn. You.” He cleared his throat. “Us. The war is foggier. I think it's mostly filled in from what's known history. I don't remember anything about being the Soldier, except for the last mission with you and what I read in my files. Amanda has some theories on why I remember what I do. If you're curious."

"When have I ever not been?" he asked.

James smiled again. "Apparently long term memories are stored in a different part of the brain than short term. They - my handlers - used a combination of drugs and electro shock to hinder those memories. Then they never gave the new memories a chance to stick, using the same methods. I remember the last mission because it was allowed to stick. And I remember when we were younger because they're the oldest memories and farthest away from the trauma." He shrugged. "Or something like that."

Steve swallowed. "Jesus."

His shock was kind of surprising. "I'd assumed you'd read the same files. Knew what they did to me."

"I know, I just. . . they were very clinical. Described you as 'The Asset'. I guess I didn't really expect you to be you. To remember."

This, in a way, was what he'd been worried about. Steve wanted to help, wanted to save people. Not for selfish reasons - though James knew in this particular instance there was probably some personal motive - but just because that was the kind of guy he was. He'd expected to have to save James, to help him. Only to find he didn't need the kind of help Steve had expected.

"If it helps," he offered. "I'm a better conversationalist than the Asset."

"Yeah, I had some really unproductive conversations with the Asset." 

That actually made him laugh a little. "Well, you said something right. One of us dragged you out of that river." God that seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet he could remember exactly how the water had tasted and feel the dull throb punctuated by sharp stabs of pain in his dislocated arm.

Steve looked at him rather intently. "Why?"

He thought back to that last moment on the helicarrier, watching Steve fall. It was like trying to remember the exact words of a book he'd read years ago. He was so far removed from the man who'd done that. Everything then had been so. . . instinctive and feral back then. He'd only gone with Amanda because he'd been desperate for someone to follow, to give him orders.

"They punished me for asking who you were," he said finally, trying to put those gut feelings he'd had into words. "Pierce did. You'd stirred something in the back of my head. Woke something up. When you stopped fighting. . . I don't know. Seemed like someone who didn't hurt me was worth saving."

Steve inhaled sharply, and swallowed and nodded. "Thank you for saving my life," he said. 

James had the ghost of a memory from the war, one that was hard to separate out because it involved pain and needles and being strapped to a table, and could very well be from his time as the Asset. But no. It was when he'd gotten the serum. And then Steve was there, yanking the restrains off, leading him out of a burning building. The story the Smithsonian told about Azzano depicted a heroic Captain America risking his life to save 400 imprisoned soldiers. It hadn't sat right when James read it the first time, though he hadn't known why. But he remembered now. Steve hadn't been trying to save hundreds of lives. Steve had come to save _him_.

"I thought you were smaller," he muttered, then shook his head sharply. "Thank you for getting me out of that machine."

"What were you doing in it in the first place?"

He scrubbed his hand over his face. "My arm was malfunctioning. I almost hurt Amanda. I was trying to fix it and there was a power surge and those stupid clamps tightened."

"Are you and her. . .?" He made a vague gesture. Some things about Steve Rogers never changed.

It was a conscious effort not to grin. He was sure he still looked rather smug. "I should make you say it. But yes. We are."

"Good for you," he said, clearly sincere about it. "We'd heard rumors you were working with someone, but I didn't entirely believe it. Let alone, you know, that."

Rumors. He hoped he got a chance to hear more about his new legends. "She was there, when I went back to base after pulling you out. She'd been a prisoner, too. Relocated my shoulder, talked to me like I was a person. Everyone thought she was dead and I didn't trust myself to navigate the world without a handler. So she let me come with her." He swallowed around a lump in his throat. " _That_ came later."

"You care about her?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. We've saved each other, more times than I can count. We're all the other one has." He said it without thinking it might hurt Steve. It was true, though. He was happy to see Steve, but in a more detached way. He didn't really know where they stood, what the other man expected of him. Was still wary that Steve would want him to immediately be his old friend again. Amanda knew him, for good and ill. He didn't know what happened now. But he didn't want it happening without her. "What about you?" he asked, trying to distract himself. "Are you thatting with Carter Jr?"

Steve frowned at him, and James could tell if he was annoyed at his first statement, annoyed at Carter, annoyed at the question, or some combination of the three. "No."

Well, he supposed some things never changed. "But she was helping you track me."

"My friend Sam was helping me for a while—I don't know if you remember, but he's the guy with the wings. You ripped one off. Sharon's a spy, and it eventually became apparent I needed that skillset."

He winced a little. He remembered the man with the wings. And the ones at the jets, scrambling to help Steve. "We were trying to find the places I'd been. See if there was any more information on me. And make sure the couldn't put me back on ice again."

"It was the pattern of fires that tipped us off," he said. "Well, tipped Sharon off. She knows how to analyze that kind of data." He said it with a surprising amount of admiration in his voice.

James smiled a little. More than met the eye between Steve and Carter. Some things _really_ didn't change. "I tried to cover our tracks. But the last one went sideways. We almost didn't make it to Belarus."

He was quiet a moment, then said, "The government doesn't know who you are."

That gave them something in common. "I found the write up at the Smithosian very helpful."

"I mean they don't know you're the Asset. I told them I killed the Asset on the helicarrier."

"Some would say you did." He paused a took a deep breath, processing that new information. "So I'm not under arrest or going to trial for war crimes?"

"No. Though I'd keep the arm under wraps, there were pictures and footage of you on the bridge. Everybody has a camera these days. The Winter Soldier is still considered a myth, and they think the Asset is dead. Hydra's files don't go far back enough to know where the Asset came from. Natasha had to get your files from the Russians. She had them purged behind her, because she's Natasha." Steve said that with great fondness.

James had been glowering at his arm. The change in tone made him look up. "Natasha. . . was she the redhead with you? On the bridge? She almost took me down." That was said with genuine admiration.

"Yes. She's very good at what she does."

"Is she all right? I hit her in the shoulder."

"She's fine. Though apparently you once shot her in the stomach, too."

He tried to make that memory surface. Specific missions were hard to sort out and details were usually so faded and jumbled as to make them useless. "I don't remember that."

"That's probably for the best. Though I suppose that wasn’t you, just the Asset." He looked around. "The guy who owns this building? All evidence indicates the Asset killed his parents."

James looked up, half expecting to find turrets mounted on the ceiling. To his surprise, he didn't even see any cameras. Just lights and what looked like an authentic smoke detector. "Does he know I'm here?"

"He does. I told him everything and let him look at the files—including things I didn't have the stomach to read. I was hoping he'd understand that it wasn't. . . _you_. Turns out he trusts me, and has more than a passing familiarity with torture. So, here we sit."

He nodded slowly. Not getting arrested. Not getting killed in his sleep. Things were looking up. "Is Amanda in trouble for helping me?"

"I don't think so. We didn't know about her so I didn't clear it. But the Avengers have been running Hydra down same as you, so really we're doing God's work."

That made him smile a little. "Is there a shoe that's going to drop soon or is it really going to be this easy?"

"Take it from somebody who is still trying to put his life back together after a 70-year time gap. That's a big enough shoe."

And there it was. The thing he'd been running from these last ten months. Time to figure out exactly who James Barnes was. He still felt a little lost and panicked at the idea. But he was here now and there was no going back. "Yeah," he said softly. "Guess that'll be a full time job."

"You're welcome here as long as you need. Or at least until we move upstate."

He nodded slowly. It would be good to have a safe place for a while. He could sit down with Amanda, figure out next steps. Assuming, of course, that she was still with him. It was possible that now that they were in the States she'd want to pick up her life again. Hers was only a couple years out of date, not decades.

He couldn't think about that right now. Couldn't contemplate sorting out the future without her. One step at a time, like any other mission. "I think right now I'd like to see Amanda. And get some sleep."

*

Amanda had met Maria Hill three times while working at SHIELD. Hill had hired her, had come in for a physical during review time, and had come in to get some Advil for a sprained ankle. They had been simple, professional-bordering-on-friendly interactions. She’d been left with the impression of Hill as a competent, tough agent, worthy of her spot at Fury’s right hand.

Of course, she’d never sat across an interrogation table from the woman.

Oh, well, it wasn’t an interrogation. It was a debrief. Debriefs weren’t scary. It was standard operating procedure for agents coming in after missions. Amanda had witnessed a few, stitching people up in the aftermath. She’d never given one before. Given her current questionable legal status, it seemed wisest to treat it like being pulled over after speeding. Answer questions in brief, clear language and don’t offer any extra information.

Hill didn’t seem to expect anything more. It started simply enough. No, she had not been a willing agent of Hydra. Yes, she had been working on a serum for them. No, she hadn’t succeeded and what samples she had she’d destroyed. Yes, she’d gone with Barnes of her own free will. Her assessment of him? Sane as can be expected, given circumstances, but her opinion was hardly objective.

“What is your relationship with Sergeant Barnes?” Hill asked, looked ever-so-slightly uncomfortable with the question.

For a moment, Amanda pondered a series of flip or sarcastic answer. But she was tired, and hungry and just wanted to be done with this. So she said, “We’re partners. In pretty much every sense of the term.”

Hill raised a brow. “Every sense?”

“Well, we don’t run a business together. . .”

Something like a smile crossed Hill’s face. Amanda decided to push her luck. “Am I under arrest?”

“Do you feel you should be?”

That was more pop psychology than debrief or interrogation. “I was an agent of SHIELD fighting Hydra. I should get a medal.”

Another little smile. Hill glanced at her papers, then back at Amanda. “No, you’re not under arrest. Aside from you still, technically, being dead, we’ve no evidence you had anything to do with the string of fires at known Hydra bases. As far as we’re concerned you were a captive of Hydra that’s now free. Obviously we’d like you to stick around to give us any information you have on Hydra and their scientific or technical capabilities. But as soon as we sort out your lack-of-being-dead paperwork you’re free to do what you like.”

“And what about Sergeant Barnes?”

“He’s above my pay grade. But I wouldn’t want to be the guy who tries to arrest Captain America’s best buddy.”

It was Amanda’s turn to smile. “No, I imagine that wouldn’t go well.” She took a deep breath in an effort to tamp down the flare of panic she felt at the sudden sense of freedom. “I’ll help if I can. They kept me very isolated but I saw and heard things. Right now I’d like a meal and to see Barnes. Please.”

Hill nodded and snapped her note book closed. “I can do that.” She stood and led Amanda out of the conference room into a hallway with surprisingly nice carpet and better-than-average nondescript art on the walls.

“Where am I, by the way?”

“Avengers Tower, New York,” Hill said. “We’re only at two-thirds capacity here right now. In the process of moving to a bigger campus upstate.”

“When you undead me will I get my medical license back?”

Hill glanced back at her. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They took a couple turns, passed a window with a rather breathtaking view of the city, then Hill tapped on a door that looked like all the other doors they’d walked past and opened it. Inside, James was talking to Steve Rogers in a room almost identical to the one Amanda and Hill had spoken in. 

James’s face lit up a little when he saw her. She hadn’t been entirely sure how they were going to play this. If it might be better to downplay their relationship for the time being. But, despite the fact it had only been a couple of hours since she’d seen him, she’d missed him. It was strange to be away from him, she had gotten used to being in his company.

He stood and she crossed the little room to hug him, with enough force to make him rock on his heels. His arms came around her, cupping the back of her head with his right hand, the metal arm clamped comfortably around her waist.

“You okay?” he murmured in her ear.

She nodded. “You?”

“I’m good.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, stubble scraping her cheek.

 Leaning back a little, she rubbed a hand over his jaw. “They couldn’t find you a razor?”

He grinned. “I thought you liked the rugged look.” He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. Then he tugged her to turn and face the others in the room. “Steve, this is Amanda. Amanda, this is Steve.”

She held a hand out and he shook it, giving her a gentle smile. “Nice to meet you,” he said, sounding sincere.

“You, too. I’ve heard a lot of stories about you.”

He glanced at James. “I’ve got an apartment in the building. You’re welcome to stay with me as long as you need. Both of you.”

James glanced at her and she nodded before he could even ask. He gave her a little squeeze and turned back to Rogers. “We appreciate that.”

Steve Rogers’s guest room had its own breathtaking view of the New York skyline. The bed was comfortable and big enough for both of them, with one nightstand and a few framed sketches hung on the wall. 

James paused to inspect one of the pieces of art, a rough piece featuring a bar full of men, most of them with their faces hidden or in shadow, sharing drinks and stories. It had an odd sense of melancholy to it, despite the obvious camaraderie among the men shown.

“He drew this,” James said. “I remember that bar. In London. We’d go there after missions, him and me and the Commandos. Get drunk. Well, try to.”

His tone had a bit of the same melancholy as the picture did. “How was it?” she asked quietly. “Talking with him again.”

He studied the drawing another moment before turning away and sitting on the bed next to her. “Awkward. There were moments it was almost like it was, almost like I remember it. But he expected me to be one thing and I’m not it. Nor am I the kid from Brooklyn he grew up with. And he isn’t the guy from my memories, not really.” He shook his head. “We just. . . didn’t know what to say to each other.”

Lifting a hand, she rubbed his back in big circles. “You know, that’s pretty common for friends who’ve been apart for a while. You two are just doing it on a grander scale.” She reached out to hold his hand. “It was only the first conversation.”

James nodded and rolled his shoulders. “I know. I know.” He leaned into her, resting his head against hers. “I’m tired. Lay down with me?”

That sounded like a little piece of heaven. “I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a good time to mention there's a sequel/companion piece from Steve and Sharon's POV coming in March.


	13. Chapter 13

There was something to be said for sleeping in a warm bed, in a climate controlled building, with nowhere to be and no threats to worry about. Despite being hungry, James slept through the evening and into the night. When he finally opened his eyes, the sky peeking through the skyscrapers looming outside their window was a pre-dawn grey and he felt rested and at peace for the first time since their days in California by the ocean.

He took a deep breath, smelling the sweet floral of Amanda’s shampoo and the freshness of the sheets tangled around them. She was warm and supple in his arms and, based on her breathing, just starting to wake up. He tightened his grip slightly and she smiled, eyes still closed. “Good morning.”

“Sleep well?” he murmured into her hair.

“Like the dead.” She rolled over to face him. “Doesn’t feel real yet. Being here. Being safe.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” There was a small part of him that wanted to run. Pack up Amanda and whatever they could carry and disappear before anyone else woke. Run away from his confusion and conflicting desires and whatever it was that Steve wanted from him. It was a small part, and he was succeeding in ignoring it. But it was there, and it worried him a little.

Perhaps some of the conflict showed in his face, because Amanda leaned back a little, looking thoughtful. “What do you think you want to do today?”

He twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers. “Stay right here? Hopefully with less clothes on.”

She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. “I am going to need some food to keep up my strength. But other than that, I could probably be convinced.”

“Good,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her deeply.

Spending several days in bed having almost constant sex was slightly awkward when you were staying in someone’s guest room rather than a hotel. Since things with Steve were awkward enough as it was, they made a point of emerging on a regular basis and attempting to socialize.

Well, he attempted to socialize. Amanda seemed better at it, or at least better at faking it. He supposed the fact she had no real history with anyone here helped. She went out with Maria Hill often, trying to get her paperwork in order now that she wasn’t “dead” anymore. When she had her medical license reinstated she showed it off like a proud mother.

He wasn’t doing as well acclimating. Things with Steve were still tense. There were moments of calm, of what felt like normalcy. But sooner or later one of them said something that upset the other or sent their hackles up and it was all over. It was easier to just stay in his room as much as possible.

This lasted into February. Mutterings about moving upstate were getting louder - apparently they were expecting work to begin again as soon as the snow stopped - and the time was coming when he and Amanda would need to decide what they were going to do with themselves. The idea of it made him angry and panicked. He contemplated running again, making their way to the west coast and finding some of that peace they’d had along the ocean. But he was becoming rather afraid Amanda would no longer want to go with him. She could be a doctor again, like she’d wanted. What did he have to offer her?

“Has it occurred to you you’re depressed?” she asked one ugly grey morning after she’d come back from breakfast with Maria Hill. He was still in bed, and vaguely embarrassed about that fact. He’d intended to get out of bed before she got back but somehow it just hadn’t happened.

She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his back gently. “I mean diagnosable depression. What can I do to help?”

He flinched away from her hand. “I’m fine.”

He’d kind of hoped that would be sufficient to drive her off. This, of course, was Amanda, so she didn’t even budge. “You know this isn’t healthy or you wouldn’t be so snarly about it.”

That was a good point and he resented her a bit for that. Hugging his pillow under his head he determinedly kept his back to her. “I’m not depressed, I’m just still adjusting.”

“You aren’t even trying to adjust. You’re hiding in here. I’ve asked you to come out to eat, to shop for some new clothes. I know it’s a culture shock to be back here, to see Steve everyday. But you weren’t this reclusive right after SHIELD fell and you were mostly the Soldier then.” Light fingers touched his shoulder. “Have you talked to Steve?”

That hit too close to the bone. Close enough he abruptly tossed the blankets off and got up, stalking over to the chair piled with his clothes. “I talk to Steve everyday.”

“Really? About what?”

“Stuff. The weather, his friends.”

“Have you talked about the past?” she persisted. “Have you told him you feel he wants something from you you’re not sure you have. Have you tried to define what you mean to each other or what your new relationship is?”

He half turned his head and snapped, “Have you called your sister?”

And immediately regretted it. She was trying to help. Blunt and direct was her way, and he would resent her more if she tried to come at his problems sideways. He knew contacting her sister had been weighing on her and she’d wanted to get her life sorted out before trying it. He’d said that to be mean and to hurt her for making him uncomfortable. He’d never done that to her before.

When he dared turn to look at her, he found her face blank. No anger, no tears. Just expressionless. “Amanda, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Very deliberately, she lifted her arm and checked her watch. “Nine-thirty. She’s off the air by now.” She stood and scooped up her coat from where she’d dropped it on the bed.

“Amanda-” She stormed out of the room and he followed her. “You don’t have to-”

She whirled on him as she reached the front door. “Do _not_ play chicken with me, Barnes. I am not the coward in this room.” She gave a pointed look at the couch where poor Steve was sitting, staring at a book and very carefully not listening to their argument. Then she yanked the front door open and left, slamming it behind her.

The silence in the room sat heavy. Steve didn’t even turn the page of his book. James realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale.

Slowly, stiffly, he walked over and sat at the opposite end of the couch from Steve. Still, neither of them spoke. He scrubbed a hand over his face and muttered, “This would be easier if alcohol worked on me.”

After a pause Steve said, “I have some stuff Thor gave me from his realm. It works. . . very well.”

Right. Well. If both of them reached a little they could probably get somewhere. “What do you say to sharing a couple glasses and having a long overdue chat?” He glanced over to gauge Steve’s reaction.

To his relief, Steve nodded. “I’ll get the glasses.”

*

MSNBC headquarters was on Rockefeller plaza, the stone and glass building thrusting up into the grey February sky. Amanda stood in front of it for far too long, the bitter wind biting through her jacket.

The problem with storming out in a righteous huff was that you could end up poorly dressed for the weather.

Well, she couldn’t go back to the Tower not having talked to her sister and it wasn’t getting any warmer. So she steeled herself and stepped inside. The lobby was a step up as far as temperature went but probably not conductive to just loitering about.

She walked up to the reception desk. “Could I speak to Jessica Newbury, please?”

The pleasant looking woman on the other side gave her a quick once over, seemed to decide she wasn’t dangerous or a crank and smiled. “Who can I tell her is here?”

If she used her real name Jess would probably think someone was playing a nasty trick. She’d be more likely to send security than come down herself. Amanda wracked her bran for what name she could give that would at least get her an audience. An image came to her of a little girl with blonde braids begging her to read from the book she’d been reading, she didn’t care how grown up it was it had a unicorn on the cover.

“Tell her Molly Grue is here,” Amanda said. The receptionist’s brow furrowed a little, but she picked up her phone and dialed.

 Amanda politely stepped away from the receptionist’s desk and hovered by the guest seats. It was probably even odds whether Jess or security would show up. She’d let security escort her out, but if they tried to detain her she was going to show them what a desperate woman trained by the Winter Soldier could do.

The elevator doors slid open and Jess stepped through, wearing grey slacks and a crisp red blouse, hair shellacked into place. She had just gotten her on-the-air job when Amanda was taken by Hydra. She was never going to get used to her baby sister being on TV.

Jess spotted her and her mouth dropped open. She took a hesitant step towards Amanda, then her face crumpled into tears and she ran the last few steps, throwing herself at her. “Where have you been?” she sobbed into Amanda’s shoulder.

She rocked her, stroking her little sister’s hair, stiff and prickly from hair spray. God, she’d missed her. “It’s a long story,” she said softly. She tighter her arms a little. “I’m here now.”

Jess leaned back and punched her in the arm. “I thought you were dead! Four years-“

“I know,” Amanda said quietly, resisting the urge to rub where she’d hit. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffled inelegantly. “You better have a hell of an explanation. For where you’ve been and why you haven’t called and what the hell happened to Dad and Becca.” She stopped and studied Amanda. “How the hell you got ripped.”

Amanda chuckled a little. “It is, in fact, a hell of a story. Just-“ She glanced around the reception area. “Can I tell it somewhere else? Off the record, so to speak.”

Jess blew out a breath and nodded. “Of course, come on.” She gestured towards the doors. As they headed out she tucked both her arms around Amanda’s, hugging it. “Start at the beginning.”

With a sigh, Amanda looked up at the sky as they stepped out onto the busy New York street. “How much do you know about Hydra and the fall of SHIELD?”

Telling the story took even longer than she’d expected. Jess when from quiet listening, the grief and anger, to her insatiable journalistic curiosity. Amanda felt the need to remind her several times that it was off the record and she couldn’t tell anyone. She also had to dance around who, exactly James was. Sergeant Barnes had officially died in 1945. Thanks to Captain Rogers the rest of the world thought the Winter Soldier was dead. She wasn’t entirely sure who he and Hill were claiming was living in his spare room, but it was certainly not James Barnes. Telling Jess that was the man she’d been wandering Europe with didn’t seem like the best way of keeping his cover.

When it was over they’d gone through lunch, dessert, three rounds of tea and a whole lot of tissues. But it was out and it was done and now her sister knew everything.

“So are you staying in the city?”

Amanda sipped her tea. They hadn’t talked about it, but she knew Steve and the team would be setting up shop in upstate as soon as the compound up there was complete. She assumed James would go with him, but considering how strained the relationship with the two men had been maybe not. Though what on earth he was going to do with himself in the city on his own she didn’t know.

“For the time being,” was all she said. “I’m still adjusting to civilian life.”

“Are you going to go back to work?” 

Her license was sitting in a drawer back at the Tower. Now that she was officially reinstated all she wanted was to get back to work. “I’d like to. I haven’t figured out what kind of medicine I want to do.”

Jess folded and refolded her napkin, having run out of food to pick at on her plate. “What about your research?”

“No.” The word came out sharper than she’d intended, making Jess jump. “I’m not going to continue it,” she said more gently. “There’s too many players in the game. Too many wrong hands for a functional super soldier serum to fall into. I don’t want to be Oppenheimer. I’m a good doctor, a good surgeon, with emergency training and, now, fight and defense training. I shouldn’t have trouble finding a clinic or hospital to hire me.”

“And you’re not going to disappear again?”

The question had more worried than accusatory, so Amanda didn’t point out it hadn’t exactly been her idea to disappear the last time. Instead she just replied, “I won’t go anywhere without telling you.”

They parted ways soon afterwards. Jess had to go explain why she’d just left work for three hours in the middle of the day. And Amanda should probably go back to the Tower and make sure James and Steve hadn’t decided to spar and destroyed the apartment.

When she got back, she found the two of them sprawled on the couch. Steve appeared to be passed out. At first she thought James was as well, then he opened his eyes and grinned at her. “‘Manda! You’re back. Did you talk to you sister?” Except he slurred when he spoke, so it came out “sisser.”

She stared at him a moment, slowly closing the door behind her. “Are you drunk? _How_ are you drunk?”

Frowning, he glanced around, then lurched off the couch, falling on his face, before rolling over and lifting a bottle over his head. “Steve’s friend Thor has alien alcohol. It works on us. Our conversation required drinking.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Lecturing him on trying alien alcohol would almost certainly fall on deaf ears. “So you did talk?” she asked, deciding to focus on the important part.

“Yes we did.” He looked over at Steve and smiled stupidly. “We’re good. I think we’re good. We’re better, anyway.” He looked back at Amanda. “We’re gonna figure out how to be friends. Like we were before. Well, not _all_ that way before because we did some stuff that was _definitely_ not friend-“

“Okay!” she said brightly and loud enough to cut him off. Some things should probably not be confessed while drunk. “Why don’t we get you in bed with some water so you can start sleeping it off.”

He pouted but let her tug him to his feet. “I’m not tired.”

“You probably will be soon.” He might have managed to get drunk, but increased metabolism meant his hangover would probably be be vicious and imminent. She got him into bed, tucked the covers around him and went back out to the kitchen for a glass of water. She poured two and left one on the end table near Steve, covering him with a couch blanket.

James drank the whole ten ounces of water, then flopped back on the bed, catching her hand and tugging her close. “You were right, about me talking to him.”

“I’m usually right,” she told him, putting the glass down and sitting next to him on the bed. “When people bother to listen to me.”

“He’s my best friend.” His tone was incredibly serious and solemn, so she tried hard not to laugh.

“I know he is, James.”

“He said I’m feeling the way I am because of something called PTSD.” He reached out and slid his arm around her waist, curling around her. “He has a friend who helps other vets with it. I’m going to go talk to him.”

She rubbed his back in little circles. “I think that’s a great idea.” And she was eternally grateful for Steve for being the one who brought it up, rather than her.

“I figured out what I feel about him.” He leaned back and looked at her. “I love him,” he said just as solemnly, and continued before she could derail him again. “And that means I love you, too.”

It was the first time he’d said it. That either of them had said it. She was surprised at the strength of her reaction to the words. Her chest ached with it.

She reached out and brushed hair out of his eyes. “I love you, too.”

He smiled brilliantly. “Good.” He closed his eyes and shifted to his side, clearly ready for the passing out portion of the evening. Amanda stood slowly and started to creep for the door.

“Oh,” James said before she got there. “Steve is going to sleep in one of the other apartments. He’s tired of listening to us have sex through the wall.”

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. Right. Time to never look Captain America in the eye again.

*

The next week, James tagged along with Steve to a meeting Sam was running. Sitting in the crowd was awkward and oddly claustrophobic, but in the end he was glad he went. The next time was easier, as was the time after that. By the end of February he was going by himself three or four times a week and even finding it in him to talk once in a while.

He and Steve started spending time together, just the two of them. It started out as sparring and working out, since they couldn’t think of anything else they might have in common. But soon they figured out how to have a cup of coffee or a meal together with minimal awkward silences. It was nice, and oddly soothing, the way being with Amanda was.

Steve’s love life turned out to be a constant source of conversation. The blonde Carter - Sharon - apparently had a boyfriend. Until she didn’t. But offering to be her rebound wasn’t exactly Steve’s style. So they were having this weird dance wherein they both clearly wanted to jump the other’s bones, but were too caught up in history and drama and their lengthy platonic relationship to do anything about it. James didn’t consider himself an expert on relationships by any stretch of the imagination, so he wasn’t offering up any advice. Just a friendly ear and answers to direct questions.

Amanda spent a lot of time with her sister, which was good. It seemed to make her happy. If it hadn’t, he might have poked her about it, but he figured she needed to reconnect to her old life as much as he did.

In March, things with Sharon seemed to settle out - for the better, thank God - and the Avengers’ compound in upstate New York neared completion. Steve started to make plans to move up and James, with no other ideas for the future, thought it was probably time he did the same. 

In April, Steve and Sharon took a long vacation. It was a little bit making up for lost time and a little more getting in as much time together as they could before Steve moved upstate and visiting became more complicated than a fast train ride to and from DC. James felt a bit lost without him, thought he didn’t like to admit it. ItT gave him far too much time to think.

“Have you ever been in upstate New York?” he asked Amanda, watching her put together a salad for lunch.

She paused chopping a cucumber and glanced over at him. “I don’t think I have. I might have gone to a medical convention in Buffalo or Albany or something.”

“Steve says it’s cold.” Cold seemed to really other Steve, which, given the whole freezing in a plane in the Arctic Bucky understood completely. He wasn’t a huge fan of it himself, but he barely remembered the cryo so it wasn’t with the same pathological distaste that Steve had.

“That it is.” The cucumber slices were added to her salad bowl and she turned to look at him. “You’re planning on going up to the compound then it’s finished.”

It was said completely without inflection. Prickles raised along his arms and back and he turned to look at her. “You’re not.”

For a few heartbeats they just stared at each other. Then Amanda said quietly, “I’ve been sending out job inquiries. Hospitals, clinics. I’m hoping to start getting some replies, soon.”

James focused on breathing, like his PTSD group leader had suggested. “When were you going to tell me.”

“When I had a reply. When I knew it was more than some vain hope of mine.” She abandoned the salad and crossed the kitchen to sit with him. “I didn’t want to have this conversation if nothing was going to come of it. I didn’t realize you’d decided to go upstate or I would have brought it up sooner.”

She was calm and her reasoning sound. He used that to ground him. Sooner or later he was going to need to have an unpleasant conversation with someone without a panic attack or having to get drunk. This seemed like a good time to start. “Steve is going. I think Steve pretty much _has_ to go. And I. . . like being his back-up. HIs right hand man. Even if I am usually on his left,” he added with a smile. She smiled too and it helped. “Leaving him to stay with you doesn’t feel right.” 

But he hadn’t know going with Steve would mean losing her. Maybe it had been arrogant to assume she’d just follow him to the compound and . . . be there. Probably not a lot of jobs outside the compound up there. And she’d made it clear to him, Steve, Hill and anyone else who asked that she had no interest in signing up with the Avengers.

“I’m not asking you to choose me over Steve,” she said quietly. “That’s not fair to anyone involved. And, to be honest, I think I need this.” She swallowed and glanced away. “You asked me once, a long time ago, who you were. And I feel like we spent a long time trying to figure out the answer. Maybe you’re still not sure, but from where I sit it seems like you’re at least on the right path.”

James found himself nodding. He had doubts and dark days. But the nightmares had faded and most of the time he was confident in who he was and what he wanted. Whatever equilibrium he’d set out to find between Sergeant James Barnes and the Winter Soldier, he seemed to have gotten as close as possible. The support meetings helped. Steve helped. Being safe and secure in his surroundings helped. This is who he was now. That didn’t mean he was ready to be that person without her.

“I’m not the person I was before Hydra took me.” He focused in on her again. “And I don’t think I’m really the person who blew up Hydra bases with you. I feel. . . lost and uncomfortable in my own skin. I need some time to figure out who I am again. Just like you did, on a smaller scale.”

He swallowed hard. “And you think working at a clinic or something will help with that?”

“When we were driving through Russia and we would stop and help people in the little towns and villages. . . that made me happy. I felt useful and like I had a purpose. I want to feel like that again.” She reached across the table to curl her hand over his. “I love you. I don’t want to hurt you. There isn’t a moment of the last year I would take back. But I feel like I need to do this.”

Her hand looked so strange curled around his. Soft and pale against the hard metal. “I want you to be happy,” he said quietly. Because whatever else he felt about this, however much he dreaded having to muddle through without her, he wanted her happy. If that meant letting her go, then that was what he needed to do. “You stayed with me and helped me and I think you probably saved my life. So anything you need I’ll give you.”

She smiled, eyes bright and now a moment he was afraid she might cry. “You saved my life, too.” Taking a deep breath, she glanced away and blinked a few times, gathering herself. When she looked back at him, the threat of tears seemed gone. “And I’m not leaving tomorrow, or anything. No one has called me back. We have time.”

He nodded and leaned across the table to kiss her. Today, tomorrow or a month from now. Watching her go was going to tear him apart.


	14. Chapter 14

Responses from her job inquiries started to come in a few days later. It had been a long time since Amanda had gone on a job interview and she was a little concerned her “people skills” had completely atrophied. Fortunately, heads of hospitals weren’t exactly the snuggliest people in the world and no one expected surgeons to have a bedside manner. She was interviewing for ER positions, not surgery - too much politics and not enough time with patients - but that experience seemed to be working in her favor. Two hospitals gave her offers and she ended up accepting the one in Brooklyn. When her sister asked her why she told her the benefits were better and the people she’d met friendlier. Bother were true, but the fact it was in Brooklyn had been a factor as well. It was possible James would change his mind and come back from upstate. If he did, she had to think Brooklyn would be where he would want to live.  
 The fact she was choosing a job partially with his wants in mind when she was trying to untangle herself from him was something she had decided not to examine too closely.

They wanted her to start immediately, so she bought a couple pairs of her favorite shoes and started commuting in for her swing shift. It was a bit of a culture shock, if she was honest. Long days on her feet, high pressure, high stress. She handled it, as she had everything else in her life, but it was hard. The long commute on the subway didn’t improve her mood, especially when her schedule shifted the second week and she ended up on the commuter train into Manhattan at the end of her shift. For some reason being around a bunch of people only starting their day made her feel out of place and exhausted.

Her sister found her a sublet without Amanda even having to ask. She was determined to stick it out until Steve got back from his vacation; leaving James alone didn’t feel right. But he insisted she go as soon as possible. He claimed it was because he could see the commute was killing her, but she suspected he just wanted to rip the bandage off on her leaving.

Now that the time to go was here, she was having second thoughts. She was going to miss him and worry about him and when weighed against the vague sense she had of needed to do this, it seemed so foolish. She loved him. She had loved him through some of the scariest, hardest days of her life. They were better together, not apart.

But even as she thought it, she knew that she’d never completely believe it if she didn’t at least try to get by without him. Maybe she’d crack up in a few weeks and upstate wouldn’t seem so bad. But she owed it to herself and her future to find out.

She had only a couple of suitcases worth of things that were hers. It only took them one trip to take them down to the waiting cab. The driver loaded them into the trunk and climbed in himself, waiting while she turned to James. “This still doesn’t feel right.”

He smiled even as he sighed. “Steve will be back in a couple of days. I can take care of myself for 48 hours in a monitored building with a full fridge.”

“I know, I know.” She hoped her really did take care of himself and didn’t just eat pizza and ice cream until Steve got back. “But are you sure you don’t want me to stay until he does?”

Gently, he touched her jaw, stroked his fingers along her cheek, tracing the line of her scar. “We have to figure out how to be apart sometime. Today is as good a day as any.” 

She leaned into his touch. “I love you,” she said softly. There were a thousand other things she wanted to say, but that seemed the most important.

“I love you, too.” He kissed her, tender and sweet. “Be safe and happy.”

Resting her forehead on his, she tried to memorize his scent and the feel of his hands against her face. “You call me if you need something?”

“I promise.” She didn’t believe him, but she nodded and leaned away. He managed a little smile and kissed her forehead. “Go,” he said softly.

She couldn’t bring herself to actually say goodbye. She was sure to burst into tears if she did. So she just nodded and slipped into the waiting taxi. James closed the door firmly behind her and the car pulled away from the curb. Amanda twisted in her seat to look out the back and saw him standing on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets, watching her.

They turned the corner and then he was gone.

Days passed. The sublet had come furnished, but she bought her own bedding and hung up a picture of her and her sister and another of the Pacific Ocean. The commute was much more palatable, though coming home to the empty, impersonal apartment hardly made it worth it.

James didn’t call, nor did an upset and angry Steve Rogers so she assumed he was doing well. After a few weeks and increasingly warm weather, she figured the men had successfully moved up north and that all was more or less well.

She liked her work and the people she met. Some of the other people on her shift asked her out for drinks on her day off and she went, determined to socialize. It was fun, or at least as much fun as she’d ever had while out with coworkers. Adding to the conversation could occasionally be tricky. That whole kidnapped by Nazis and roaring rampage of revenge across Europe weren’t exactly polite company conversation topics. Still, it passed the time and made her feel a little less alone.

Despite the moments of loneliness, the distance and time apart did help clarify things. She missed James, sometimes to much it ached. Af first she told herself it was just habit, because he’d been such a huge part of her life for so long. But it didn’t fade with time, it only got sharper. When good things happened she wanted to share them with him. When things went wrong she wanted his advice and shoulder to lean on. When colleagues talked about boyfriends and partners it made her think of her own stories, even the ones she couldn’t tell anyone.

Her sublet was over in July and she found a long term lease in a building down the street from the hospital. It was the top floor of a brownstone built in the teens and furnishing and decorating it entertained her for a couple weekends. It still looked rather spartan and Jess bugged her about getting another couch or more end tables, but her heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t planning on throwing a lot of dinner parties.

The summer waned and fall loomed on the horizon and she still hadn’t heard from James or started missing him any less. It was time to admit that maybe alone wasn't what she wanted. Maybe Ithaca wasn’t so bad.

She was walking home from the hospital one humid August evening, turning over in her mind how on earth to start that phone call. A few blocks from her building she looked up to see a dark figure lurking on the stoop. The street light closest to her building was out and she couldn’t see any details.

There was no reason to think it was someone nefarious, or even someone there for her. But her instincts were clanging, bringing out prickles of awareness along her spine. Slowing her pace, she reached in her bag for the extremely illegal telescoping baton she kept in there.

Then the figure straightened and stepped off the front stoop and she stopped in her tracks. She still couldn’t see his face but she recognized him none the less. She knew that fluid, lethal grace anywhere.

“James?” she said softly, just before he turned to her.

He smiled, then his gaze went to her hand in her bag and it turned into a crooked grin. “Going for a weapon. That’s my girl.”

Flustered, she released her baton and closed the distance between them, meeting him at the base of her front steps. “Are you all right? Has something happened?

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I just. . . wanted to see you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This is a nice building.”

“You’re not about to tell me it was the one you lived in when you were a kid, are you?”

He laughed. “Hell, no. We couldn’t have afforded a place like this.” He sobered, studying her face. “You like it? Work’s good?”

“Work is fine.” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “I miss you.”

His shoulders slumped in what she hoped was relief. “I missed you, too.” Clearing his throat, he glanced down the block. “We didn’t go to Ithaca.”

Much as she tried to rein it in, her jaw dropped in shock. “You didn’t?”

“Steve decided he was putting down his sword, so to speak. He’s been fighting so long I would have thought he didn’t know how to stop. But he and Sharon. . . he found something worth giving it up for. He’s down in DC with her now and the team is chugging along just fine.”

Amanda still didn’t entirely believe what she was hearing. “So what have you been doing with yourself?”

“That’s what I wanted to show you.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet. He flipped it open to the driver’s license window and held it out to her.

She took it, scanning the information on the little card. Hair: brown, eyes: blue, height, age: 35, weight, name. . . “James Buchanan _Newbury_?” she looked up at him, now sure she was dreaming or really reading this.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking vaguely awkward. “James Barnes died in 1945. The Winter Soldier died when the helicarriers went into the Potomac. I’m someone new, have been for a very long time. James Newbury grew up in Brooklyn in the eighties, went to Afghanistan and lost his arm. Then came home and decided to take up carpentry of all things.” He reached out and took the wallet out of her nerveless fingers, flipping through it a moment before tucking it back in his pocket. He handed over a white business card.

The top of the card said Brooklyn Boys Construction with a little sketch of the Brooklyn Bridge. Beneath that, in neat block letters, it read _J.B. Newbury, licensed contractor._

“I know you said you needed space,” he said quietly. “And if you still need more then I can be patient. But I wanted you to know I was all right. And I was trying to start a life. A new one. A real one. And I’d prefer to have you in it. If I can.”

It was all but impossible to speak around the lump in her throat. She stared down at the business card in her hand, running the pad of her thumb back and forth over the corner. In a moment she could picture it perfectly. The doctor and her contractor husband. Working odd shifts around each other. Buying some fixer upper from the thirties and fixing it up on the weekends. A yard with some flowers and maybe a dog and a lazy cat in the window.

He’d probably still keep a knife on him all the time, but mostly use it to open packages or cut twine. Maybe they’d spar a bit to keep their skills up to date. You never knew when someone could get violent in the ER. But there would be no spies, no Nazi scientists. Their past could be behind them, alive only in nightmares and the odd good memory.

They’d have Steve and Sharon over for dinner, as well as Jess and her fiancé. Maybe they’d go back to California sometime, and make love to the sound of the ocean. Maybe they’d see the nicer parts of Europe, without any ulterior motive.

Maybe they’d have kids to run around in the yard with the dog.

She looked up at him and smiled. “We’re going to get mail addressed to Dr and Mrs Newbury.”

He grinned. “I look forward to that.” he lifted a hand and stroked her scar. “Steve, Sharon and I had a debate about whether we should tell people I took your name or if we just happened to have the same one.”

“I suppose either is possible. Though having the same one might get less questions.”

“Yeah.” He sunk his fingers into her hair and tugged her closer. “Is that a yes?”

She nodded. Yes to him, to them, to no more time to think. Tucking her arms around his waist she smiled crookedly. “Might as well. My closet door is hung a little crooked and I’ve been meaning to call a contractor.”

Leaning down, he kissed her, soft and sweet and full of that lovely future she’d pictured for them. “That is well within my skill set.”

“Good,” she whispered. “Come upstairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The companion story, _The End is Where We Begin_ will post later today.


End file.
